


It's a hell of a feeling though

by thenewbrokenscene



Series: It's a hell of a feeling though [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angry Luke, Blow Jobs, Bottom Luke, Child Abuse, Coming In Pants, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Fame, Friends With Benefits, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Luke in Panties, Luke is a brat, M/M, Minor Brashton, Minor Violence, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Partying, Past Relationship(s), Spanking, Top Michael Clifford, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 58,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewbrokenscene/pseuds/thenewbrokenscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU, actor/model Luke and musician Michael]</p><p>After a recent scandal and the subsequent publicity nightmare, Luke Hemmings doesn't need any more trouble.  He's just trying to enjoy his best friend's birthday party.  But who the fuck invited Michael Clifford?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Screwed

**Author's Note:**

> More tags to be added as more chapters are added.  
> They seem pretty dark but...I don't want this to be a complete emo angst fest, just fyi!
> 
> Title from Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time by P!ATD

“Ready?  On three!  One…two…!” Someone shouted, prompting the partygoers to lick off the salt they’d poured on the web of skin between their thumbs and pointer fingers.

On three, a sandy haired boy tipped his head back and downed the shot of tequila, before quickly shoving a slice of lime into his mouth.  There was a chorus of clinks as the shot glasses were slammed back down on the bar, and the blonde casually tossed the remnants of the lime somewhere over his shoulder.

The blonde was Luke Hemmings.  Soon-to-be-nineteen year old _(rather successful, if he could say so himself)_ television star with a modeling gig on the side.  His family had more money than they knew what to do with, and with his father having vast monetary pull in many different industries, Luke found himself able to pursue…whatever he wanted, earning him the respectful reputation of “famous for no reason” and “riding on daddy’s coattails.”  _‘Which is so unfair,’_ he thought, _‘it’s not my fault I’m beautiful and people love my show.’_

“Happy birthday, Ashton!  Have you gotten to twenty-one shots yet?” Someone said.

Ashton Irwin was Luke’s best friend from high school, as well as his co-star.  He was currently pursuing a place in the music industry along with their mutual friend, Calum Hood.

“Nah, I don’t think I’m gonna make it that far.  Sorry to disappoint anyone who wanted to see me either, _one_ , strip and do a naked marathon around LA, or _two_ , end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.  And then, inevitably, end up on the cover of every magazine either way,” Luke heard Ashton joke back.  Ashton glanced back at Luke at the same time Luke turned to look at Ashton.  Their eyes met briefly before Ashton looked away.

Another person suggested yet another round of shots.  Luke stood up from the bar stool, dislodging the random girl who had taken it upon herself to sit on his lap and take endless selfies of the two of them.  She hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself before sending his image across the Snapchat sea, which mildly pissed him off.  How rude.  He excused himself, straightening his white dress shirt, deciding to step outside to smoke. 

* * *

 

Luke fumbled around in the pockets of his black denim jacket, pulling out a half-full pack of cigarettes.  He reached into the other one and sighed heavily, finding his lighter missing.  He grumbled, shoving the jacket back at the coatroom attendant aggressively, stomping outside, presuming there would be at least one other person hanging out around the back entrance of the club.  He was correct, seeing a pair of combat boots in his line of sight as he smacked the bottom of the cigarette pack.

“Hey, do you happen to have—“ Luke cut himself off, looking up at the other boy, catching sight of the familiar red-headed silhouette, then smirking.   _“Michael Clifford.”_

The red-haired boy glanced up from his phone, a cigarette hanging from between his lips.  Upon hearing the voice, he froze, then rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Oh, _fucker,_ ” he said, taking his cigarette in one hand, ashing it on the pavement, “ _Don’t_ talk to me.”

Michael Clifford.  Let’s… let’s not _talk_ about Michael Clifford, all right?

“Didn’t know Ashton wanted D-listers at his party.  Who invited _you?_ ” Luke pressed, not willing to miss his chance to antagonize the older boy.

“Calum,” Michael said shortly. 

“Mmm.  Of course, who else would you know here,” The blonde smiled, “It’s all very exciting, isn’t it?  To see how _the other half_ lives?”

“I’ve been to parties before.  _Your_ parties, even.  Remember?” Michael replied, annoyed, “Did you come out here to be an annoying fuck or…?”

“I just came out to smoke, but I lost my lighter,” Luke said innocently, gesturing to his unlit cigarette.

“If I lend you my lighter, will you stop talking?” The redhead offered, slipping the plastic out of his shirt pocket and holding it an arm’s length away from the other boy.  Luke took it, placing the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it, then pocketing the lighter himself.  Michael glared at him.  “Ashton and Calum asked me to join their music project, by the way.”

Luke’s eyes widened in surprise, nearly choking on the tobacco in his mouth.  He quickly reeled in his reaction, simply saying, “Oh?” before taking another drag.

“So we might be seeing a lot more of each other again, unfortunately.”

“Well, I suppose you can use all the career-boosting _charity_ you can get.  How many charts did you top with that last album?  Still living in that shitty apartment?”

“Money isn’t everything, Luke.”

“Your dad ever come back?” Luke sneered, taking the cigarette between two fingers and breathing out, the smoke flowing from his mouth and curling around his nostrils before disappearing.

“How was rehab?  I’m not surprised Ashton is trying to distance himself from being associated with you,” Michael provoked, earning a livid stare from the other, “Have fun with that aftermath,” he finished, stomping on the cigarette and returning back indoors, leaving Luke seething in the alleyway.

* * *

 

“I think you should slow down,” Ashton said, worried, watching Luke consume a row of five shots in quick succession, ignoring the cheers and encouragement of those around him, “Tequila will fuck you up, you know that.”

“I can’t believe you invited Michael into your group.  You said it was _just_ for you and Calum when _I_ asked,” Luke said, ignoring him.

“Luke…” Ashton replied, trying to explain, “You’ve had a _lot_ to deal with recently, I don’t think you need to take on _another_ project right now.”

Ashton placed a comforting hand on Luke’s shoulder, biting his lip.  Luke shook it off.

“I think _I_ can decide what _I_ can handle,” Luke replied bitterly, flicking an empty shot glass off of the bar, hearing it shatter on the linoleum floor on the other side.

* * *

 

“Oh my god, _Michael!_   Hi!” Bryana Holly, Ashton’s model on-and-off girlfriend, shouted enthusiastically, effectively ruining the relatively pleasant conversation Luke had been having with her.

“Hey, Bryana,” Michael replied, rushing to hug the girl, ignoring Luke’s disgusted expression as he crossed in front of the younger boy.

“Luke, this is Michael, he—“

“I know him,” Luke said, monotone.

“Oh!”

“We met in high school.  Best friends and all that,” Luke continued.

“Fuckbuddies, actually,” Michael said cheerfully with a wink.

“ _Ha-ha,_ ” the other boy feigned laughter, “Shut the fuck up.”

“No, seriously—“

“Stop.  Whatever you’re doing, it’s _not funny._ ”

Bryana stood between the pair, not an ounce of good-hearted teasing present in either of their expressions.  She looked at each of them, confused.

“ _Uh,”_ She said awkwardly, edging away, attempting to excuse herself from the conversation.

“Did you know that Luke likes to be tied up?  He likes it when you make him beg, he _likes_ —“

Luke lunged forward, fists balled up in the fabric of Michael’s shirt, smacking his back against the wall behind him.  Michael smiled humorlessly, watching Bryana flee behind Luke, presumably to alert Ashton of the situation.

“I said, shut!  The!  Fuck!  Up!” the blonde said between gritted teeth, punctuating his words by slamming Michael harder against the brick wall.

“Luke, I can _smell_ the alcohol on your breath.  Didn’t you _just_ say in that interview a few days ago that you weren’t going to _do_ this shit anymore?” Michael asked nastily.

Luke’s hands twitched, and he let go of Michael’s shirt, smoothing out the fabric.  He ran a hand through his hair, while Michael watched him suspiciously.  Michael watched the taller boy move, as if he was going to just walk away from the situation.  The redhead barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before Luke turned back around, punching Michael squarely in the jaw.

Then it was on.

Michael grabbed Luke by the shoulders, twisting him around and headbutting him, sending Luke reeling back, clutching his own forehead.  Michael took that time to send his fist towards Luke’s face, landing a hit to his nose that resulted in blood and a nasty crunching sound. 

“Ow, fuck!” Luke shrieked, before rushing forward, sending himself hurtling into Michael’s torso, both of the boys flying into a nearby table, the sound of glass and wood breaking heard underneath them.  Michael groaned, swinging his legs, landing a lucky knee to Luke’s crotch, causing him to fall to the floor, where Michael continued to kick him harshly in the ribs. 

Luke lay on the floor, chest heaving, until Michael seemed to tire.  Michael backed away, giving Luke just enough opportunity to fling himself back at the older boy, and they crashed back onto the floor, fists flying and legs kicking, until the red and blue lights flashing through the windows registered in their minds, then the shouting, before they were physically pulled apart by four police officers. 

“I’m not _done_ yet!” Luke shouted, continuing to thrash in their grip until he found himself being bent over an undamaged table and handcuffed, still struggling.

“Watch out guys, that’s how he likes it!” Michael called loudly from where he was being led away, laughing. 

“Fuck you!” Luke screeched, kicking his legs as his upper body was still being restrained.  He breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down, knowing somewhere in his mind that he was already _so fucked_.

“Let’s go outside,” a police officer suggested, letting the blonde back up when he finally stopped moving.  Luke nodded, but after some amount of consideration, began to think again.  There were police cars outside of _Ashton Irwin’s_ birthday party.  And _everyone_ will be wondering _why_.

“No, I can’t,” he replied, shaking his head, fully intending on living in this god-forsaken club for the rest of his existence to avoid being the star of another tabloid cover.

“Not your choice,” the officer grunted, moving to drag Luke bodily out of the club.  He dug his heels into the floor, making them fight him for every inch, glaring at Ashton all the while for even calling the damn _fucking_ police, Ashton watching him back with a concerned expression, before calling out that the party would be moving to his place and “sorry for the interruption”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, I hope you guys like this one!  
> I've been thinking of a concept like this since before I finished Beginnings but I decided to take the time and do a little more thinking and planning.  
> Also this one is from Luke's point of view rather than Michael's, and there's less fluff, I wanted to try something different.  
> Enjoy, let me know what you think please. :')


	2. Fourth Wheeling It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers in this chapter: non-graphic child abuse.  
> If you'd like to skip it, it's from the first pagebreak line to the second pagebreak line; see the chapter note at the end for a short summary of what you missed.

“Nah, he’s been having a rough last couple of months, I’m not gonna press charges,” Luke heard Michael telling a police officer through the crack in the window where he had been stuffed into the back of a squad car.

“ _Really_ Michael, you’re _far_ too kind-hearted,” Luke called out sarcastically, earning a smug look from the redhead.

The blonde sighed, resting his forehead against the cool plastic of the partition dividing the front seat from the back seat.  The tequila shots were catching up with him and he was getting more and more _fucked_ by the minute.  If they didn’t get a move on soon, he’d end up barfing all over himself in the car and then show up to his house an incoherent mess.  Not that it hadn’t happened plenty of times before.  But he was supposed to be _better_ now.

“Have you been drinking tonight?” A voice said, breaking Luke out of his daze.  He blinked at the source a few times through the window, trying to make the shapes stop _moving._

“I haven’t,” he lied, hoping his eyes were succeeding in focusing on the figure in front of him.

“Would you mind stepping out of the car and walking in a straight line, then?”

Luke’s stomach churned at the thought of standing up, much less walking, especially trying to do so in a straight line, in front of vultures ready to take a video of him failing at it.

“I…I had a _few_ drinks,” he admitted finally, under his breath.

* * *

 

Luke’s palms were sweaty, his leg shaking nervously as the car finally pulled into the familiar half-circle driveway in front of his family’s mansion. He wasn’t sure how long the car ride had taken, or how they’d gotten past the security system at the entranceway gate. He looked at his phone, sitting in his lap, wondering if perhaps he had already called his home phone, but he couldn’t remember for certain. Someone opened the door to the backseat and Luke slid out, his physical mortal form reduced to a pile of goo.  He leaned heavily on the officer that had taken him by the upper arm and began leading him to the front door.  

His steps faltered when he saw the yellowish light flooding out from the front door that was already open, the dark outline of his father standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.  Luke wiped the sleeve of his shirt across the drying blood under his nose, trying and failing to make himself look more presentable. 

“’M sorry,” Luke mumbled, staring at his father’s shoes, stopping to stand a few feet in front of the older man.  His father stepped aside, gesturing for him to go into the house.  When he moved to walk forward, he was stopped with a hand on his shoulder.

“Go wait in the dining room,” he said, a thinly-veiled threat behind his words.

Luke felt nauseous, and he could tell it wasn’t from the liquor. 

Nonetheless, he stumbled into his home, bumping into walls and doorframes, hearing the faint conversation between his dad and the police officer about the importance of being responsible with alcohol consumption.  The blonde found himself pulling out a chair at the breakfast table just outside the kitchen and slumping down onto it, resting his cheek on the polished wood in front of him.  He closed his eyes, hearing the front door close gently.  Luke was nearly lulled into oblivion by the rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps before he felt a hand fist itself into his hair and yank him upwards.

The wooden chair toppled over, clattering to the tiled floor as Luke let out a shout of surprise and pain.  He opened his eyes to see his father in front of him, the wind being knocked out of him as he was slammed back into the wall behind him by a pair of rough hands on his shoulders. 

“ _What_ did you _do?!_ ” his father shouted in his face while Luke took several steps backwards, succeeding in getting himself crowded into the corner of the room, “You just can’t stop _ruining_ shit, can you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Luke babbled, his hands in front of his face in an attempt to defend himself, his eyes screwed shut, “I fucked up, I’m sorry—.”

“What.  Happened.” the older man said between grit teeth, grasping Luke’s jaw in one hand aggressively and forcing the boy to look at him.

“I just, drank too much and got into a fight,” the teen said in a pathetically small voice, hoping that was enough of an answer, believing he was likely to throw up right on the fucking floor in front of him if the conversation continued this way.  He breathed a sigh of relief when his father took a step back, releasing him.  Luke slid onto the floor, curling his knees to his chest, watching the pattern on the floor tiles spin and taking deep calming breaths through his nose.  When he looked up again, his father was standing behind the island in the kitchen a few feet away.

“God, you idiot, you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?”

He was still angry, then.  Luke shook his head dumbly, standing back up on shaky legs.

“Here, I’ll make it simple, so your stupid ass can understand it— _how bad was it?”_

Luke swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair.

“It—it was, it was— everyone at Ashton’s birthday party saw, and—” the blonde said quietly, his voice cracking, “The paparazzi outside.”

A glass thrown across the room shattered against the wall above Luke’s head, narrowly missing him as he cringed away.

* * *

 

“Ashton, you home?” Luke asked, holding his iPhone up to his ear with his shoulder while choosing from his selection of sunglasses within his maze of a closet, finally settling on a pair of black-framed Clubmasters that he decided would go nicely with his all-black outfit.

“Yeah, I’m just hanging out.  What about you?  Haven’t heard from you in a few days, you on house arrest or something?” Ashton joked, a hint of concern in his tone.

“Something like that.  Listen, are you busy?  I’m kind of trying to get out of the house for a minute and you have the nicest pool,” the younger boy teased back, trying to keep the conversation light.  He flipped through his collection of flannels, choosing one in red and black to wear over his t-shirt.  It was warm out, but he’d rather suffer a bit in the heat than deal with any questioning glances towards the angry bruises on his arms.

“No, yeah, feel free to drop by whenever, I’ll be here all day,” Ashton said pleasantly.

* * *

 

“Ashton, I’m here!” Luke called, letting himself in through the unlocked patio door after excusing his chauffer, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.  The summer heat still felt sticky against his skin after crossing the vast concrete patio and in-ground pool area outside, though the indoor air was cool and dry. “Ashton?  I— _Oh._ ”

Sitting in the cushioned wicker seats in the sunroom were Ashton and Calum, and then—Michael.  Luke’s mouth went dry, and he tried to hide his disappointment at the thought that _he_ was now the fourth wheel of this _new_ trio that he was clearly _not_ welcome to join.  They turned to stare at him soundlessly as he entered, as if surprised that he’d really come.

“Never mind, I’m just gonna go,” he muttered, turning on his heel to face the way he’d come in, tugging the Ray-Bans out from where the hinges tangled in his sandy hair, “I really don’t want to deal with another asshole right now.”

Ashton’s head snapped up, quickly finishing his sip of beer and putting the bottle down on the cloudy glass table next to his seat, and vaulted over the back of the chair, jogging to catch up with Luke’s long legged strides.

“Hey, wait a minute!” the wavy haired boy shouted, fisting the fabric of Luke’s flannel in one hand and pulling him back towards the group.  Luke flinched away violently, whipping around with wide eyes and fists up, breathing hard.  Ashton backed off, holding up his open hands calmly, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You _should have_ told me he was here,” Luke whispered harshly, righting his wrinkled shirt.

“I forgot that I’d invited them over yesterday, I’m sorry.  But I told them you were coming; Michael said _he_ doesn’t have a problem being civil if you are.  I don’t even know why you guys _aren’t_ friends, Calum and I think you’d get along so _well_ if you’d give it a _try._ ”

“We’ve _given_ it a try,” the younger boy grumbled, “You don’t know _shit_ , so don’t play matchmaker.”

“I don’t ‘know shit’ because you never _talk_ to me about anything,” Ashton spat, taking a semi-threatening step forward, causing Luke to take a cautious step back.  Ashton furrowed his eyebrows, staring at his best friend, “What the hell happened?” he asked quietly, serious, “It’s been _five days_ , you haven’t answered anyone’s texts, haven’t answered calls, been on any social media, you just _disappeared._   It’s not like you, I’ve been worried.”

Luke looked down his nose at the other boy, swallowing and looking away. 

“I guess… I _would_ rather stay here than go back home,” he conceded, ignoring over half of what Ashton had just said to him, shoving his hands into his pants’ pockets and marching back into the seating area of the sunroom.

There was a tense silence for the first twenty-or-so minutes after Luke seated himself on the chaise lounge a little ways away from the rest of the group, his fingers digging into the cushion, his jaw clenched.  Someone coughed, and he looked up.

“So, Luke,” Calum started, “How did things go with your dad?  He was real mad the last time you got into trouble, wasn’t he?”

Luke bristled at the question, toying with his lip ring between his teeth.

“Calum—“ Ashton began, about to explain that _‘that’s not something we talk about, all right?’_   Calum had been around the least, until recently, and as far as he knew, Luke’s father was a simple rich asshole, no better or worse than any other.

“Ha,” Luke huffed out a laugh, though his heart was pounding, “It wasn’t too bad this time, actually.  The housekeeper had a fucking _fit_ when she saw what happened to the glass coffee table though.”

Nobody else found the humor in his words, the awkward silence taking over once more.

“It’s not like he’s much bigger than you anymore, you could kick his ass if you actually _wanted_ to,” Michael pointed out suddenly, breaking his streak of quietness, “So why the fuck do you still let him do this shit to you?”

Ashton wrinkled his nose at Michael, waving his flat hand in front of his throat and shaking his head as a suggestion for the redhead to cut himself off.

“None of your goddamn _business,_ fuckstick,” Luke snapped, pushing himself up from the cushioned seat and advancing towards the other boy. 

Michael was unfazed, crossing his arms and reclining back in his own chair, matching Luke’s glare with a passive gaze, daring him to move.  Ashton sprung up, standing between the two in order to put a physical barrier between them.

“It was just a question,” Michael grumbled finally, breaking eye contact and slouching into his seat.

“We’re gonna change the subject now,” Ashton suggested, though it was more of an order, facing Luke as he spoke.  The younger boy took a few deep breaths, unclenching his hands before eventually nodding and sitting back down, defeated.  “You still having a birthday party?” he asked casually, “Or is that a dumb question?”

“Yeah, I am,” Luke said, twisting a ring on his finger idly, “Not like we could take back all those invitations within a few days’ notice, anyway,” he cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter, and then, more cheerfully, complete with a almost-genuine smile, “It’s gonna be on our yacht, should be loads of fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID U SEE MICHAEL AND LUKE LAST NIGHT AT G'DAY USA DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNN
> 
> if you skipped the possibly triggering scene: luke was dropped off at home and his father became angry that luke keeps attracting bad publicity.


	3. Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #HappyBirthdayLuke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anything potentially triggering in this chapter is extremely mild and is already tagged in the summary, so, no surprises.

“Nineteen isn’t even an important age, this is completely unnecessary!” Luke exclaimed, waving his mother’s camera out of his face.  He had awoken to a bright light going off in front of his eyes as his mother had attempted to sneak a sleeping photo of him, not realizing the flash was still on.

“Of course it's necessary, sweetie!  All your birthdays are important!” she argued, snapping a few more pictures for good measure, sitting on the edge of the mattress, “And look, now you’re smiling.  Starting off with a smile means you’re going to have a _good day_.”

“Stooop,” he laughed, tugging a blanket over his face to obscure his features.

“You’re no fun,” his mother teased with a sigh, finally lowering the camera.  She stood up, patting Luke’s knee through the pile of bedding, “Well, now that you’re awake, come on downstairs.  We’ll have breakfast, anything you like.  By the way, you’re trending on Twitter, isn’t that nice?”

* * *

 

The blonde stretched as he strolled into the dining room, greeted with a “good morning” and a “happy birthday” from his father, who was seated with a tablet in hand, likely scrolling through the news or checking his stocks or some other equally boring _Dad-esque_ app.

He pulled out a chair, sitting across from the older man, resting his chin in his hands.  Luke’s ears perked up as he heard his own name from the television on the wall, and he felt his heart drop as he realized that the stay-at-home-mom talk show that was airing was talking about the incident between himself and Michael, and the fucking middle aged bitch hosts were spewing some shit about how Luke was supposed to be a role model and wasn’t trying hard enough to overcome his issues, complete with the cell phone video some asshole had apparently taken.  The nineteen year old felt his face grow hot and he swallowed, sparing a glance across the table.  Thankfully, his father didn’t feel the need to even look away from his tablet screen, much less comment, and his mother was kind enough to turn the television off when she entered.  Luke felt ruffled by the non-confrontation, the same way he had when he woke up to a stack of tabloids with his face on the cover set on his nightstand the day before.  There was no way this was _really_ going to slide with a few passive aggressive gestures like that.

Luke’s thoughts were interrupted as the Hemmings’ personal chef wheeled in a cart filled with plates of apple cinnamon waffles, along with every imaginable waffle topping.  And, of course, piles of bacon.  The plate in the middle had a “1” and “9” candles stuck in the center of the waffle, and his mother hurried to light them.

“Since we’re not going to be crashing your party later to see you blow out the candles on your real cake,” she explained, stepping back and getting her camera ready.  _Again._   Luke rolled his eyes.

The rest of breakfast went without incident.  Except for the incident where Luke’s father hinted _(well, blatantly suggested)_ that perhaps the breakfast food was to blame for the fact that Luke hadn’t been asked to do swimsuit modeling this year, and the room became tense and silent for a moment, until the blonde forced out a casual _“Haha, maybe,”_ while silently considering that maybe apple cinnamon waffles _weren’t_ his favorite anymore.  But other than that, everything was fine.  Everything was fan-fucking-tastic.  It almost felt like a real family meal where everyone _actually_ liked each other.  His father, on his way to work, had even clapped his son on the back with a pleasant, almost-sincere, “well, have a _good_ day!”

* * *

 

“You’re coming, right?” Luke shouted at his phone from across the room, where it lay on his bed with the speakerphone turned on.  He nearly fell over, struggling to shove socks onto his feet.  He was stressed.  He didn’t fucking know what to wear.

“Obviously,” Ashton’s voice scoffed, slightly muffled by Luke’s pristine white down-filled comforter.

“What should I wear?”

“I dunno, I’m not your fucking stylist.  You know how to dress, it’s a fucking birthday party, not your wedding,” Ashton laughed.  Luke sat down on the footstool in front of a chair in the corner of his room, wearing only boxers and, after twenty minutes of deciding, a pair of plain black socks.  And that’s about as far as he’d gotten.  He sighed, defeated.  He knew this wasn’t the real issue, he was just distracting himself.

“Hey, Ashton, this is _super_ embarrassing, but,” the nineteen year old started, deciding to just come out and say it, “ _I’m_  super embarrassing, so I was wondering if maybe you could be, like, my babysitter for the night.  And make sure I don’t do anything exceptionally stupid,” he paused, and then, “I know you probably want to have fun and it’s annoying that I even have to _ask_ , but…”

“Yeah, of course I will,” Ashton said, cutting him off, “It’s really not an inconvenience to hang out with my best friend at his birthday party, you know.”

“I just…wanna have, like, a _good_ day.”

“Of course.  You will.”

* * *

 

Ashton, Bryana, and a handful of Luke’s entourage of _“Important Celebrity Friends that were absolutely crucial to maintaining his super cool appearance”_ piled into the back of the black limousine with the birthday boy, shouting and cheering at him, tossing gift bags and unwrapped presents around.  The young adults howled with laughter at the stupid ass gag gifts, including, but not limited to, a shot glass shaped like boobs, and penis-shaped candy.  Hilarious.  Ashton passed around a box full of silly party hats and plastic leis, while Luke handed out champagne glasses.  They were far too hyped up and party-ready for the sun to still be so high in the sky.

The blonde popped open the bottle of champagne, the cork hitting the low ceiling of the car like a missile with a loud pop.  A less experienced driver would have been startled, but the chauffer simply rolled his eyes at the “Sorry, dude,” that came with the noise and the alcohol splashing all around in the back seat, getting every-fucking-thing sticky.

The group arrived fashionably late to the party, half of them smoking fat cigars, including Luke, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes and his black Givenchy dress shirt nearly half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up.  It was all laughs as they entered, security stopping the paparazzi from following them in, though Luke was sure pictures from inside would end up on the net somehow no matter what precautions were taken. 

* * *

 

“Don’t let me get drunk,” Luke reminded his best friend, picking up his fourth drink from the bar.  He probably should have nixed the drinking altogether, but he figured four drinks in two hours was tame enough.  By his standards, anyway.  Kind of.  “This is my last one.”

“That’s something you normally only say once you’re _already_ drunk, and then there’s no stopping you,” Ashton pointed out, “But alright.  If you start telling anyone that story about you and Selena Gomez again, I’ll know it’s time to shut you down.”

“We don’t talk about that- topic forbidden,” Luke shushed him, waving his hand dismissively.

* * *

 

Luke was surprised at his own ability to keep it together.  The sun had set over an hour ago, and he still wasn’t becoming _fucking messy_ yet.  However, Ashton was nowhere in sight, probably having become distracted in conversation among the growing amount of party guests.  That was fine, everything was turning out just fine, and Luke was doing it all on his own.  He decided to reward himself with another drink, sitting at the bar and engaging in conversation with another one of his co-stars and some of her friends that he hadn’t met before.  They raved about the catering, especially the hors d’oeuvres, and thus started an impromptu wine-sampling, trying to find the perfect wine-appetizer pairings.

Eventually, Luke realized he’d drank more than two full glasses, which wasn't a heinous amount, but still- _not a part of the plan_.  So, in the spirit of having a _good day_ , he excused himself from the bar before he doomed himself to being wine drunk on a ship full of people.  He decided to find Ashton.

Drink in hand, the blonde crossed the deck of the yacht, a summer night’s breeze fluttering through his hair.  He bumped into someone suddenly, narrowly missing them with the wine splashing over the edge of his glass and onto the polished wood under their feet.  Luke looked up, about to snap at whoever it was to _watch where they’re going, they could have ruined his clothes._

“Oh my fuck, this is ridiculous.  I’m really going to fire my security team,” he groaned instead, as Michael Clifford turned towards him, surprised, with an apology ready on his lips.  It died quickly, replaced with a frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also feel like I should mention that Luke's in-fic parents are intentionally nameless out of respect for real life Luke's real life parents. Please feel free to replace the image of real life Luke's parents with whatever snobby rich parents you can think of, because that's not who I'm thinking of in any capacity when writing this fictional story.


	4. Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is terrible and everything sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any triggers that I can think of in this chapter are already mentioned in the fic tags.

The pair stood, glaring at each other like a couple of petulant children, before Michael decided to break the tense silence.

“You never specifically said I couldn’t come.  In fact, one of _your_ friends brought me as their ‘plus one’, so you can blame yourself for putting that provision on your invitations,” Michael shrugged casually, “Dope party, by the way, what time were you planning on ruining it?”

“If you don’t get—“ Luke started, then stopped, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose.  He shoved his half-drunk glass of wine at a passing busboy, who took it from him, bewildered at his aggression, and crossed his arms over his chest, sticking his nose in the air snobbishly. “Never mind.  I’m not taking the bait.  I’m just going to ignore you so I can continue having a good day.  Enjoy the party, I don’t care.  I’m just gonna go look for Ashton.”

“Speak of the devil, here he comes,” Michael said, pointing in the direction that the older boy was coming from, followed by Calum and a few others.  “Hey,” he greeted with a wave.

“You guys need to be separated, or have you learned how to behave?” Ashton joked, stopping a few feet away from the pair, hands on his hips.  He was met with an irritated expression from Luke and a stuck-out tongue from Michael.  The brunette sighed, shaking his head.  He turned towards Luke, gesturing with a nod of his head to somewhere in the distance, “C’mon Luke, let’s go.”

“Go…where…?” the blonde asked, a little confused.  He hadn’t been planning on ditching his own party.  That's what he did to _other_ people, not himself.

“The private lounge below deck, obviously,” Ashton explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small plastic bag filled with pills of varying colors and sizes, “Here,” he said, tossing it to Luke, who nearly dropped it as he recoiled, “Your actual birthday present.  Thought you'd like something more useful than a giant purple dildo.”

"Oh, don't worry, dildos are probably plenty useful to him," Michael snickered, largely ignored.

Luke looked down at the baggie in his hands, then closed his fists around it.  He was suddenly nauseous, feeling them shift around inside the plastic.  His mind flashed back to the horrible, awful withdrawals that had left him bedridden for an entire week.  Shaking, sweating, vomiting, aching, overheated but freezing at the same time.  Of course, Ashton wouldn't know anything about that.  He hadn't been there for Luke then, no one had.

“What the fuck is this?” he hissed, shoving it back towards Ashton.  The older boy looked confused.

“Uh…Oxys…?  Jeez, are you that drunk already?” he asked, pushing Luke’s hands away, “It’s been a while since you could get your hands on some, so I thought we’d all…”

“You thought you’d bring some to a recovering addict’s birthday party?” the younger boy whispered harshly, “What kind of friend are you?”

He couldn’t believe his day had just gotten ruined by someone that _wasn’t_ a clownish-looking box-dye redhead with 2005 Pete Wentz eyeliner.

Ashton barked out a laugh, stepping back and putting his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, now you’re suddenly ‘recovering’…?  Just the other day you were getting blackout drunk and snorting lines of blow at my house, so forgive _me_ for not realizing that was an important thing for you!”

“Ashton, you’re being kinda loud,” Calum interjected, wincing.  The other boy ignored him, waving him off like an annoying mosquito.

Luke saw Michael giving him a pitying look out of the corner of his eye and glared at the redhead, tearing his gaze away from him and back to Ashton.

“I asked you to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid tonight,” Luke said through grit teeth, shaking the bag at him for emphasis, “And you know that this isn’t helping.”

“I’m not the one who becomes a fucking idiot at the drop of a hat, so don’t get all pissy at me about _your_ inability to control yourself!”

“Lay off, Ashton,” Michael cut in, causing Luke’s jaw to drop indignantly.  He did not need this fucking stooge to defend him. “He obviously wants to be sober tonight; argue about _whatever-this-is_ later, in _private_.  No need to ruin his party.”

It was Ashton’s turn to cross his arms over his chest, jutting his chin out defiantly.

“I’m not ' _ruining'_ anything," he argued, using his fingers to make air quotes around the word 'ruining', "We’re having a _discussion_ \- and that’s kind of fucking ironic, coming from you.”

“I’m just here for food and drinks, not to be the birthday-demolishing arch nemesis.  I didn’t even expect to actually see him tonight, honestly,” the redhead replied, shrugging, “I don’t really care, just…”

“Ashton, I want you to go,” Luke interrupted, sick of the two boys speaking as if he wasn’t standing a foot away from each of them.  Ashton wrinkled his nose at him, then looked exasperated.

“Fine,” he said, “Like I said, we’ll be in the lounge if—“

“ _No,_ ” the blonde snapped, “I mean ‘go’, as in, if you want to do that shit, you can get the fuck off my boat and leave me out of it.”

Ashton seemed to be at a loss for words, opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to retort.  He ultimately settled on the classic ‘aggressive shoulder bump’ as he stormed past Luke, grumbling something to the effect of, “It’s like you’re not even the same person anymore, rehab really sucked the life out of you.”

Luke stepped off to the side, allowing the small gang of young adults to sift around him on their way out, still clutching the plastic bag with a shaking fist.  He stared at the floor, ignoring the half-hearted “sorry”s and “happy birthday anyway, dude”s, or “come on over if you change your mind, man”s. 

The younger boy chewed on his lip ring, vaguely hearing Calum ask Michael if he wanted to join them, to which Michael replied “Nah, I’m gonna stay here.  Don’t get to party on a yacht every day.”  Calum nodded and followed the group, avoiding looking at the blonde completely.

A hand came down a bit too roughly on Luke’s shoulder, causing him to flinch.

“Sorry,” Michael said awkwardly, snatching his hand back, “You looked a little spaced out.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Luke replied, swallowing hard.

Now that he was no longer concealed by the gaggle of their _(Ashton’s)_ friends, Luke shoved the bag of pills into his pocket.  Avoiding Michael’s gaze, the younger boy ducked his head, and, with a tight-lipped smile, rushed off to find some sort of distraction before he was consumed with the realization that he was fucking _nothing_ to those he'd considered his closest friends, as well as a distraction from the physical fact that there were a ton of wonderful, _amazing,_ euphoria-inducing pills right in the front pocket of his black jeans that he absolutely _did not want._

* * *

 

After an hour of trying and failing to re-engage himself with the party, Luke decided he needed to go off somewhere and just _sit_.  Alone.  And maybe have a teensy-weensy little anxiety attack.  No big deal.

The bathroom seemed like the obvious choice.  The blonde sat down heavily on the edge of the spacious bathtub, tapping his foot mindlessly on the marble floor.  Of course, this was _after_ he’d picked himself up from where he’d been crumpled on said floor with his head between his knees, trying to calm down and breathe and stop _crying like a little bitch._   Luke tried not to think about the pills in his pocket, but that's exactly what he ended up doing.  If he took all of them, maybe he’d die, and feel better.  If he took one, maybe he’d _also_ feel better…

The door banged open, causing Luke to jump approximately three feet in the air, then slammed shut just as quickly, with a masculine voice saying, “Whoops, sorry dude,” on the other side.

It creaked back open carefully, Michael peeking in through the crack for a moment before fully letting himself into the room.  He closed the door behind him, locking it.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, studying the younger boy closely, a hand coming up to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

“Sitting.” Luke answered blandly.

“I can see that.”

“I feel kinda sick, probably all the apple cinnamon waffles I ate this morning,” Luke lied weakly.

“Stuffed your face like usual, did you?” Michael teased, the intent of being rude evident in his tone.

“Yup,” the taller boy answered shortly with a pop of his lips, “Typical me.”

“And then I suppose you let your father toss you around a little after that whole debacle at Ashton’s birthday was on tv this morning, huh?  Did you see our People Magazine cover?  _You_ certainly looked horrendous.”

“I did.”

“Hm,” the redhead hummed, crossing the bathroom floor to stand in front of Luke.  He knelt down, staring into Luke’s blue red-rimmed eyes, the latter averting his gaze, his face starting to feel hot under Michael’s scrutiny.  _Too close._  “You have pretty terrible forehead acne.”

“Get _away_ from me,” Luke snarled at the older boy, using the flat of his hand to forcibly push Michael’s face away, smushing the other’s nose under his palm.  Michael stumbled backwards, losing his balance and falling on his ass.  Luke stood up, hovering over the other boy menacingly.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” he sneered, doubled over to spit in the other’s face, “You stupid fucking prick.”

Michael’s eyebrows rose, a smile twitching on his lips.  Luke’s face twisted in confusion at Michael’s apparent glee, backing off a little on the slim chance that the fucker had lost his fucking mind and had actually entered the bathroom to assassinate Luke with a concealed weapon all along.

“There’s the angry, snotty little brat we all know and hate,” Michael said, clapping his hands playfully, a real smile breaking out over his features, “But I’ve gotta say, your insults are definitely lacking when you’re this upset.  Now, help me up.”

Luke stood still, staring down dumbly at Michael, the cogs of his brain halting as he evaluated the situation suspiciously.

“Come on,” Michael urged, lifting a hand towards Luke, who took it hesitantly, helping the older boy up from his position on the floor.  He looked in the mirror, fixing his hair where the breeze outside had misplaced the strands.  Luke absentmindedly noted that Michael had a new haircut, a little shorter on the sides than he’d seen in the past few years of knowing him. “I really only came in here to make sure I still looked good, I wanted to bang one of your co-stars later.  Anyway, let’s go outside.  I’ll bum you a cigarette.”


	5. Gutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe we should've left our love in the gutter where we found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @the person who wanted me to warn them of smut scenes: there is one in this chapter, near the end. it's not very long, so you'd pretty much just have to ignore a few paragraphs and then its back to Actual Stuff.

Leaning over the railing of the yacht, Luke stared down at the sparkling ocean water below, trying to ignore Michael’s incessant chattering next to him.  The redhead lounged back against the side of the boat, elbows resting on the metal rails, waving his cigarette enthusiastically as he talked with his hands.  He was filling Luke in on what he’d been doing for the past year since they’d last had a non-hostile conversation, but all Luke really wanted to do was thank him for the free cigarette and send him on his way.  Michael cleared his throat, a sign that the blonde had likely missed a conversational cue, so Luke flicked his ashes into the sea and glanced towards him.

“Hm?” he inquired, finally turning his head and giving the other boy his attention.

“I said, that was a shitty thing for Ashton to do,” Michael repeated.

Luke sighed and shrugged, “It’ll be fine.  I shouldn’t have blown up at him.”

Michael eyed him, was about to say something, but stopped, turning around to face the water with Luke.  The younger boy sensed an empty _‘it wasn’t your fault’_ in the air, and appreciated the other for not bothering with it.  If he’d just gone along with it, it—

“Did you take any?” Michael asked.

“No.  I don’t want to.  I mean, I do, but, I’m not gonna, probably.”

“Do…do you want me to, like, hold onto them—“

“If you want them, you could’ve just asked an hour ago instead of wasting your time with this conversation,” Luke snapped, wrinkling his nose.  Of course Michael would have an ulterior motive for approaching him.  Michael scoffed, offended.

“You’re such a fucking brat, I’m not looking for handouts.  I was _going_ to throw them out so you won’t be tempted to fuck up and take them yourself.”

_Oh_.  Luke blinked.  That made some amount of sense.  He fished the bag out of his pocket and shoved it at Michael’s chest before he could change his mind.  Michael tossed it over the side of the yacht, and Luke felt a strange pang in his heart, like he was watching his favorite goldfish get flushed down the toilet.  The plastic bag sat on the surface of the water, slowly drifting around, but not disappearing from view.  _How anticlimactic._

“Shit.  I don’t know why I thought it was going to sink.” The redhead sighed, shaking his head.  Luke rolled his eyes.  There were a few awkward moments of silence before Michael asked, “So…do you, want, like a blowjob or something?  _That_ could be a fun party activity.”

“God, you’re so fucking annoying, please just shut up.” The blonde groaned, burying his face in his hands, careful not to burn himself with the end of the dying cigarette.

“Come ooon,” Michael smirked, purposely bumping his hip into Luke’s, “Sex always makes me feel better.  And just think, I crashed your party and didn’t even bring a present!”

Luke straightened, taking a long, final drag of his cigarette and flicking it into the ocean.  He crossed his arms, looking at Michael skeptically.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.  Michael didn’t move, just waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You’re serious.  Of course you are.  I need another drink.”

“Is that a yes?” The redhead asked cheerfully, trailing closely behind Luke as he began his journey back to the old trusty bar.

“I suppose random birthday sex with my enemy is better than no random birthday sex at all,” he mused.

* * *

 

Luke had decided they could leave after a few more drinks on both their parts, the subtle thigh-touches and ass-grabs were becoming less and less subtle by the minute as their inhibitions were lowered.  The party was winding down anyway; more than a few guests had already said their goodbyes and the group that was left was mainly comprised of those who hadn’t received an invitation and simply wanted a chance to drink expensive liquor at a glamorous venue for free.

“Your place or mine?” Michael had asked quietly, cornering Luke near the exit of the yacht.

“Mine, obviously,” Luke scoffed, “I don’t want rats or bedbugs or whatever the fuck your shack of an apartment is infested with biting me in the ass.  I’ve already got a room at a five-star hotel reserved for the night.”

“Fancy.”

* * *

 

The pair clambered into a black SUV, Michael deciding it was time to get right to work as soon as the door slid shut, the tinted windows obscuring them from view.

“We should’ve taken separate cars.  I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Luke mumbled, digging his fingers deeper into Michael’s thigh, using his other hand to forcibly detach the redhead’s mouth from where it was busy creating a deep red mark on Luke’s neck. “Be a little more conspicuous, would you?” he asked sarcastically, squeezing Michael’s jaw in one hand, forcing the older boy to make eye contact with him before releasing him with a dramatic sigh.

* * *

 

“How the fuck do they always know where you are?” Michael asked incredulously, his face pressed against the glass of the car window, eyeing the small crowd of fans gathered just outside the hotel doors.

“ _I_ didn’t even know which hotel it was,” Luke replied, attempting to fix his disheveled hair and buttoning his shirt a bit to hide the hickeys forming under the collar.

* * *

 

“What a fucking bother,” the blonde grumbled as soon as he was out of earshot of those he’d just been speaking with.

“What?  You’re so much nicer to them than you are to…well, anyone else,” Michael noted, squeezing between the revolving doors of the hotel, immediately enthralled by the crystal chandelier hanging from the lobby’s ceiling, staring upwards with wide eyes. 

Outside, Luke had stopped for a few selfies and a short chat with the fans, apologizing for the incident with Michael, leaving the girls with guilt in their hearts for believing their _poor Lukey_ would _ever_ instigate a fight on purpose.  It was all just an unfortunate misunderstanding.  And no, of _course_ those grainy club pictures of Luke snorting coke weren’t real—Luke doesn’t _do_ drugs, it’s all just silly rumors.  And, to Luke’s annoyance, a few of them wanted pictures with Michael as well, their new favorite up-and-coming artist, as if Luke had brought fucking Halsey with him or something.

_“Stop, you’ll make him think he’s famous,”_ Luke had half-joked, _“I can feel his ego growing by the second.”_

“I can’t afford bad press right now,” Luke explained shortly, “I need them to like me.”

“And how the hell did that girl know Ashton left at exactly 10:37 PM?  I checked his social media, he didn’t say anything all night!”

* * *

 

“Oh, _fuck_!” Luke moaned, gripping the sheets below him.  The headboard slammed against the wall with each thrust of Michael’s body, undoubtedly disturbing whoever had the misfortune of being placed in the room adjacent to the pair.  Luke panted, his arms shaking with the effort to stay up, knowing each time he fell onto his elbows the older boy would land a vicious smack to his ass, pulling him back onto his hands by his hair. “Right _there_ , keep going.”

Michael paused, causing Luke to growl, frustrated, and buck back against him.  Michael gripped Luke’s hips forcefully to still him, leaning down to speak into the younger boy’s ear.

“Tell me what to do again and I’ll just fucking _leave,_ brat,” he warned.  Luke shivered underneath him.

“No you w— _ohh_ —n’t,” Luke grunted as Michael started pounding into him again, and then, as snottily as he could, “All the—the chicks you _haaa_ —hoped to bang at the— _ngh_ —party were there f-for _me_ , oh my fucking, _fuck, fuck—”_

“God, I should have picked up the gag from my place, huh?  Or did you want me to use your underwear?” Michael asked, covering Luke’s mouth with one hand, the other loosely around the blonde’s throat as he came with a whine, ruining the hideously expensive silk bedding beneath them.  When released, Luke immediately let himself fall face-first into the soft down-filled pillows, limp, while Michael continued, causing Luke to let out little _“oof”_ s as the breath was forced out of him with each thrust. 

Just as Luke was getting ready to turn around and claw the other boy like an angry cat from the unpleasant overstimulation he was being subjected to, Michael finished with a moan, hips stuttering while his fingertips dug into Luke’s skin.  He flopped down on top of Luke, nearly suffocating the younger boy in the plushy pillows.  He rolled off as Luke began to flail his arms angrily, the two of them laying side by side, catching their breath.

Luke started to laugh after a few moments, still face-down on the bed. 

“That was fucking ridiculous,” he said, “Like we used to, but _better_ , almost.  Makes me wonder why we ever broke up.”

Wordlessly, Michael sat up, rummaging around the room for his clothes.  Luke cleared his throat, sitting up against the headboard himself.

“I thought the _groupies_ were the ones who’re supposed to leave afterwards,” he attempted to joke, as Michael hadn’t responded to his last comment.

“I don’t have groupies,” Michael grunted as he jumped into his own skinny jeans, the fabric sticking to his still-sweaty skin as he tried to pull them past his thighs.

“You can _stay_ , if you wanted,” Luke tried, feeling the atmosphere becoming cold.  Awkward.  He smelled the essence of regret filling the room.  Not that he—not that _he_ cared.  They’d agreed beforehand; it was _just_ sex.

“Better not,” the redhead replied shortly, not bothering to look up from where he was tying his black Converse sneakers on the hotel room floor. 

“What, what’s wrong?  Did you not like it?” The blonde asked, starting to get offended that the other boy was trying to escape _literally minutes_ afterwards.  Even _he_ would stay and cuddle for an hour or two, making his escape when the other fell asleep.  And nobody ever left _him_ first. “Do I fucking smell or something?”

Michael finally glanced up at him.  Luke’s nose scrunched up as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“I was joking, don’t tell me I _actually_ smell bad!”

“You don’t, really,” Michael assured him, standing up.  He crossed the room, stopping over by the nightstand where his wallet and phone sat.  “I just—“ he began, reaching out to brush the sweaty strands of hair off Luke’s forehead.  He swallowed, snatching his hand back, gaze dropping to the wall behind Luke, “I can’t stay here.  It’s been a lovely night, and, um… I’m sure I’ll, uh, see you around, sometime.  At like, Ashton’s house or something.  It’s, ah, it’s been fun,” Michael finished, not making eye contact as he closed the hotel room door, leaving Luke confused and seething in bed.  Decidedly angry and offended (but not _hurt_ , _not_ hurt, _nothurtnothurtnothurt_ ), he screamed through his teeth, throwing a black leather Chelsea boot that had been laying on the floor next to the bed at the wooden door, leaving a splintering hole in the wood as it bounced back onto the carpet.


	6. Magnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say it to me, let's embrace the point of no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: emotional child abuse, eating disorder, sexual content - in that order.

Luke dove headfirst into the deep end of the pool, leaping off of the diving board.  He sunk, watching the sunlight above him become obscured by the chlorine-filled water, before propelling himself upwards, breaking through the surface with a small splash.  He sneezed, trying to dislodge the unpleasant water that had found its way up his nose, and swam back over to the shallow end, where his mother was lounging on a foldable chair, reading a magazine while simultaneously speaking to her husband via Bluetooth earpiece.

The blonde pulled himself over the edge of the in-ground pool, yanking himself out of the water and stepping onto the concrete of the pool’s edge, intending on making his way to the _(frankly, tacky)_ Tiki bar situated on the patio and making himself a drink.  It was early, so he figured a Mimosa was appropriate.  He stopped dead in his tracks a few feet away from his mother, hoping he _didn’t_ just hear what he _thought_ he heard.

“What did you just say?” Luke asked, turning back around.  She glanced up at him questioningly over her sunglasses, pausing from her reading.

“Nothing, sweetie, go have your lemonade,” She shushed him, dropping her gaze back to the magazine on her lap.  Then, speaking over the earpiece, “Oh, it’s just Lukey in the backyard with me...  Yes, that’s fine.  I’ll see you at dinner.  Love you too, dear.”

“What were you just talking about?” Luke rephrased the question, refusing to move.  The woman was pretending not to fucking hear him, like she was too enthralled in the celebrity gossip that she already knew was ninety percent bullshit.  He stomped his foot, frustrated, “Mom!”

His mother finally sighed deeply, closing the magazine and looking up at her son like he was a total fucking idiot, considering what to say next. 

“I didn’t want to upset you, but…you’ve gotten a little…well, _pudgy_ , recently.”

“Oh,” Luke breathed, tense.

“We were just discussing ways to get you back into shape,” She said, like it was the simplest thing in the world, “Like you were just a few months ago.”

“I was never in-fucking- _shape_ , I was addicted to pain medication and coke so I never fucking _ate_ anything!” He snapped, his hands balled into shaking fists.

“If you’re going to be over-dramatic, go do it somewhere else,” His mother scolded, making a show of burying her nose back into the magazine to signal that the conversation was finished, adding, “I’m just looking out for you and your career, baby.  No one’s going to want you if you look like you don’t care about your appearance.”

Luke stood, gaping at her for a few more minutes, feeling like the hot embarrassment radiating off his body could turn the water still dripping off of him into steam. 

“Fuck you,” the nineteen year old hissed.  He decided to forgo the Mimosa, his feet slapping against the pavement as he hurried into the house, needing to get away.

“Love you, honey!” His mother called, just before he was able to slam the glass patio door shut, running up the stairs to his bedroom like a child throwing a tantrum.

_It doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter itdoesn’tmatteritdoesn’tmatteritdoesn’tmatter—_

After safely locking himself in his private bathroom, Luke knelt in front of the toilet and promptly began emptying the contents of his stomach into it, retching loudly.

* * *

 

Luke lay curled under his blankets and sheets, refusing to leave his room when his mother called him downstairs for dinner— which would probably piss off his father, but everything did, and he couldn’t give less of a shit with how terrible he felt.  He scrolled idly down his Twitter feed, following a few fans, which actually felt nice at the moment— at least _they_ appreciated his existence.  Luke decided he should nap, having nothing better to do, and tucked his phone under his pillow.  Just as he was about to drift off, it buzzed suddenly, the vibration against his cheek causing him to jerk in surprise.

 **ashton irwin US personal:** im sorry about our fight the other night.  can we just go back to being best friends?

Luke squinted at the screen, thinking that _Ashton_ apologizing to _him_ must be some sort of dream.

 **luke hemmings cell 1:** thought i wasn’t fun anymore ?

 **ashton:** i said im sorry???

                i don’t know how to do the groveling and begging for forgiveness thing so…take it or leave it

He sighed.  This _was_ very big of Ashton, considering it had all been Luke’s fault in the first place.  It might be nice to feel like he had friends again.

 **luke:** its fine

 **ashton:** that’s all?

 **luke:** ?

 **ashton:** nothing

                never mind

 **luke:** what ?

 **ashton:** i mean its whatever

                but you were pretty shitty to me though

 **luke:** ughhhhhh i know…im sorry for getting so mad

 **ashton:** and?

 **luke:** and for kicking you out of my party

 **ashton:** nice :) we good then?

 **luke:** yea

 **ashton:** cool.  come over and drink beers!!!! just the two of us :D

 **luke:** do you have vodka by chance

 **ashton:** grey goose all day every day

 **luke:** omw immediately

* * *

 

After untangling himself from his bedding and taking a shower, Luke tugged on a pair of shoes and trotted down the stairs, hoping he’d be able to avoid his—

“Luke,” his father called from the den, just off the side of the foyer, evidently having heard his son’s footsteps, “Come in here.”

Luke’s feet chose that moment to become cinderblocks, and he forced himself to step inch-by-inch to the edge of the room, peering into the doorway.

“Did you swear at your mother by the pool?” He asked, muting the television and turning in his seat to face Luke.  Luke sucked in a breath, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, trying to decide on the best course of action.

“ _Well,_ I—n—I’m sorry,” he apologized with a swallow, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor, kicking the back of one foot with the other.

The confrontation ended without violence, though the insults shouted in his face for nearly an hour with fingertips digging threateningly into his arms left Luke shaking badly as he finally climbed into the back of the car, heart racing.  He directed the driver to Ashton’s house with a wobbly voice, wiping nervous tears out of his eyes with the heel of his hand.   _Stupid little bitch._

* * *

 

“Calum and Michael are on their way over,” Ashton announced, setting the Playstation controller down on the wooden coffee table in front of them, phone in hand, “We can have a bonfire outside, that’d be fun.”

“Great, I _love_ Michael,” Luke said flatly, taking another gulp of his drink.  He was, however, actually glad to end their video game session.  He was sufficiently drunk by now and was beginning to find it difficult to follow what was going on in-game.

“Oh, come on, you guys were all buddy-buddy on your birthday.  Did you seriously have another spat in the course of a week?” Ashton laughed, pressing his own bottle of beer to his lips.

“It was a friendship that lasted like five hours, tops,” Luke sighed, “It wasn’t meant to be.  I don’t even think it was _my_ fault it got fucked up, either.”

“Well, they’re coming.  And I told them you were here already, so he must not have that huge of a problem with you.”

“Hm,” Luke hummed thoughtfully, “And what about Bryana?  What’s she doing tonight?”

“We, um, we aren’t seeing each other anymore.  She’s with, uh, a bunch of the gang at the Nice Guy,” the brunette said, clearing his throat.  _Oops._

“Is that why you finally wanted to hang out with me again?” the younger boy asked bitterly, “You’ve got no one else?”

Ashton didn’t answer.  _Surprise, surprise._

* * *

 

Michael was refusing to make eye contact with Luke.  Unknown to the others, Michael seemed to be trying to avoid acknowledging Luke’s entire existence, though that apparently wasn’t stopping him from staring the blonde down across the fire pit in Ashton’s backyard.

Luke glanced up, feeling a pair of eyes on him, but when he made contact with Michael’s green ones, the other boy quickly looked away.  The redhead was seemingly unable to reply to any of Luke’s comments as well, responding only with noncommittal grunts or huffs of laughter.

 _‘How long have I been fucking ugly?’_ Luke asked himself, feeling like Spongebob when he’d been suffering from bad breath.  Michael was clearly ashamed of what they did.  _Michael._ Ashamed of _Luke_.  What the fucking _fuck._

The nineteen year old grabbed his tall plastic cup from the table next to his chair, taking a long sip through the straw, glaring directly at Michael’s face the whole time, hoping the older boy could feel him looking.  He hoped it made him uncomfortable.

“Why are you guys being like that?” Calum asked suddenly, breaking Luke from his thoughts.  He whipped his head to the side to acknowledge the other boy, making himself a little dizzy from the movement combined with the alcohol.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been glaring at each other the whole time we’ve been here.  Why?  You guys seemed friendly just the other day.”

Luke rolled his eyes, slamming his now-empty cup down, pushing himself to his feet.

“Ask Michael, I gotta take a leak,” he grumbled, swaying a bit as he made his way indoors.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Luke heard someone say, the sounds of feet moving through the grass following him.

* * *

 

Luke stepped out of the bathroom, flicking the lights off as he went.  Almost immediately, he heard movement behind him before he was smacked face-first into the hallway wall, face pressed uncomfortably against the cream-colored wallpaper.  Fear coursed through him for a moment, before remembering he wasn’t at home, and he recognized the scent of his assailant.

“Ow, Michael, what the fuck!” he shrieked, flailing his arms.

“Do you want this?” Michael asked, close to Luke’s ear.

“What?!  Want— _what,_ what the fuck are you _talking_ about?!” Luke squawked, angrily confused.

“Do you... wanna do sex stuff sometimes?” Michael clarified, his hands roaming down Luke’s body, unbuttoning his black skinny jeans.

“That was the _least_ sexy way you could have asked,” the blonde said, talking into the wall where his face was still smushed.  In answer, he rolled his hips, trying to grind his ass into Michael’s front, “And I’m still confused.”

“You’re a fucking terrible person and I never want to be close to you again,” the redhead said, as if that was a reasonable answer, “Not even as friends.”

“That’s nice.”

“But I think we could have fun, like this,” he added, palming Luke’s dick through his boxers, the younger boy gasping at the touch, “Do you wanna?”

“Uh-huh,” Luke breathed in affirmative as Michael continued to stroke him over his clothes faster, grinding into Michael’s hand for more friction.  He reached a hand back to try and grab at the older boy, but Michael stopped him, pinning his wrist to the wall.

“No,” Michael said, “This is just for you.”

Luke grumbled frustratedly, shutting his eyes tightly.

“If you keep at this, I’m gonna end up coming in my pants,” the blonde complained, opening his eyes to look back over his shoulder at Michael, who was smiling at him intently, “Ah, fuck, _stop,_ you fucking dick.”

Michael did stop, moving his hand down to rest on Luke’s thigh instead, making Luke whine at the loss of contact.

“No, not _literally,_ ” he panted, nudging at the older boy’s hand with his hips, “Keep _going_.”

“You wanna come in your pants?” Michael asked quietly, resuming his movements, feeling Luke’s hard cock beneath the denim, “You wanna go back out there to your best friends like that?  All dirty and disgusting because you just couldn’t control yourself?”

“Yes,” Luke whispered, cheeks burning red, legs starting to shake.

“Say _‘please’_ ,” the older boy cooed.

“Please,” Luke mumbled quietly, “I wanna come.”

“Can’t hear you,” Michael replied smugly.

“Please, make me come, I wanna come, please,” Luke babbled desperately, bucking his hips against Michael’s hand.  Michael quickened his strokes, making Luke moan.  He came with a choked-off sob, his knees giving out on him as he collapsed against the wall, Michael holding him up until he caught his breath.

Once _that_ was over, Luke straightened, wincing at the wet, sticky feeling in his pants.  He zipped and buttoned his jeans, glowering down at the floor, thoroughly embarrassed, listening to the sound of Michael washing his hands in the bathroom a few feet away.

“I think we can tuck the whole _‘coming in your pants and going out amongst your peers’_ thing in with the rest of the _‘ideas that are way hotter in theory’_ ,” Luke groaned, glad his pants were a dark fabric in order to hide any possible wet spots.

“It’s your problem now,” Michael scoffed, giving Luke a soft pat on the ass on his way out of the bathroom, then adding, “Good chat.  Very productive,” with a salute as he disappeared down the hallway, back the way he’d come from.

“Where are you going?!  We didn’t even _talk!_   Are you going to stop ignoring me?!” Luke shouted after him, irritated.

“I fucking hate you!” Michael called back, out of Luke’s line of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the hell!!


	7. Too Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long night spent with your most obvious weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: minor drug use.

Returning to the fire pit with a refilled drink, Luke found that Michael was opting to act completely ordinary, feigning the aftermath of a ‘good talk’.  Michael had begun to interact with Luke, laughing at his jokes, leaving even Luke himself feeling like they’d made some kind of progress, before remembering that their ‘productive chat’ hadn’t actually taken place at all.

They went their separate ways at the end of the night, with smiles and promises to hang out again soon.

* * *

 

 **Michael Clifford:** wyd

Luke blinked at his phone a few times upon the text’s arrival, seated in a fold-up chair on the set of the TV show that he starred in.  They’d exchanged numbers the other night at Ashton’s house, but after a few days with no contact, Luke figured it was just for show and they’d run into each other whenever they ran into each other again.

 **hemmings:** filming.  new season starts in a few weeks

 **Michael Clifford:** wyd later then

 **hemmings:** clubbin with the cast/crew

 **Michael Clifford:** come over instead

He scoffed at the ridiculous suggestion.

 **hemmings:** yeah ok lmao...

                wait really ?

 **Michael Clifford:** yes

The blonde wrinkled his nose at the thought of voluntarily entering Michael’s home.  But, on the other hand, it made the most sense.  Renting random hotel rooms all the time would seem suspicious.  And Luke lived with his parents, which was lame at best, and life-endangering at worst.

 **hemmings:** ehhhhhh

                sure why not

                what should i tell ashton though

                i dont normally pass on partying lmao

 **Michael Clifford:** just tell him i invited you over to advance our friendship ;)

* * *

 

“He wants me to come over and hang out with him at his nasty cave of an apartment,” Luke groaned exaggeratedly, fully prepared to lie through his fucking teeth, “Like, one on one.  To _‘advance our friendship’_.”

“It’s a perfectly decent apartment!  It’s in the same neighborhood as Calum’s, and you never complain about _his!_ ” Ashton argued, sipping from the cup of water in his hand, “I think you should go, then maybe we can all finally get along.”

“But _tonight?_   We were all supposed to go out tonight,” the nineteen year old complained, “I haaate missing out on shit.”

“I know buddy, but, I just think this is for the best, for you and for everyone.  There’ll be a lot less tension in the group.”

Luke sighed dramatically, pushing his hair out of his face, “Fine, I guess.  You’re right.”

“I always am!” Ashton agreed with a broad smile, “We’re probably gonna end up going out again this weekend anyway, you can make up for missing out then.”

* * *

 

“There’s not even a doorman here,” Luke whined, stepping into the apartment’s living room as Michael shut the door behind him.  The redhead rolled his eyes, directing Luke to go sit on the couch and shut the fuck up.

“We need to establish some rules,” Michael said, cutting right to the chase.  He sat in a nearby armchair, putting his socked feet up on the coffee table next to a stack of journals.  Luke eyed the notebooks, guessing they were full of fake-deep shitty poetry and perhaps some poorly-drawn sketches of crying emo girls sitting in the rain.

“Like what?” the blonde scoffed, “ _’Keep arms, hands, and feet inside the ride at all times’_?”

“No attachments,” Michael suggested, ignoring Luke’s sarcasm, “If I even get a hint of a feeling that you’re going to start tweeting weird cryptic romantic lyrics, I’ll—”

“I get it, I get it, our relationship didn’t work out, sheesh.  It’s whatever.”

“You cheated on me.”

“We were never technically _dating,_ so—“

“Anyway,” Michael interrupted, “I have one other rule.”

“Yeah, what is it?” Luke sighed, lounging back against the couch cushions.

“Take your fucking shoes off at the door,” the older boy growled, glaring at Luke’s tan suede Saint Laurent boots, still snugly attached to his feet and pressing dirty marks into the white carpet.  Luke wiggled his toes, leaning forward in his seat and sticking his tongue out at Michael.

“Anything else, _Mom?_ ” he asked snottily.

“Watch it,” Michael warned, “And no.  That was all.”

“Let’s get this show on the road, then,” Luke replied, standing up to kick his boots off and sauntering ahead towards the bedroom.

* * *

 

Luke closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose as he rolled from his belly onto his side.  His cheek rested against Michael’s bare arm while the older boy absentmindedly ran his fingers through Luke’s sweaty hair.

“You’re welcome to shower before you go, if you want,” Michael said, feeling Luke’s breath becoming less erratic.  Luke’s eyes snapped open, staring directly at Michael’s collarbones as the fingernails lightly scratching his scalp were withdrawn.

“You’re kicking me out?” he asked incredulously, propping himself up on one elbow, “I get exactly _five minutes_ to catch my breath after you fuck my brains out, and then I’m thrown out the door?”

“I mean, it’s pretty late, so,” Michael half-heartedly excused himself, twisting over to look at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand, “But that was fun, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Luke replied, frowning uncertainly.  Michael looked at him, expression unreadable.  Finally, Luke shrugged, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to scope out the floor in search of his own clothes. 

Nearly fully dressed (buttoning shirts properly is difficult in the dark), the blonde stopped in the doorway as he tried to think of a proper salutation for _‘hey we just fucked and now it’s getting weird so I gotta go’_.  Having never been on the receiving end of this sort of thing before, Luke wondered if _all_ his hookups experienced this uneasy feeling, and resolved to at least _pretend_ it was their choice to get the hell out the next time one of them came over to his place.

“So…” he started, breaking himself out of his thoughts.  He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger, “Uh, so, see you later, then?”

“I’ll text you,” Michael offered, both hands behind his head, cushioning it as he propped himself up against the headboard.   _How reassuring._

“Sure,” Luke agreed, biting his lip, lingering awkwardly for a few more moments before noticing Michael watching him, at which point he finally forced himself out the door, unsure of what he’d been expecting but somehow displeased with the outcome.

* * *

 

Ashton bent over the bathroom counter, a rolled up hundred-dollar bill held to his nostril, inhaling a line of white powder sprinkled onto the marble counter-top.  He straightened, sniffing deeply a few times, trying to clear his nose and throat, facing Luke, who watched him with a hand stroking his own beard scruff.

“Sorry,” the older boy apologized, “You were saying?”

“I was _saying_ ,” Luke sighed, annoyed at having to repeat himself, “That it went better than expected.  With Michael.”

“But?  What’s the catch?”

“I’m still skeptical.  He’s being really…wishy-washy.”

“Wishy-washy,” Ashton repeated thoughtfully, trying to show he was actually listening this time.

“He told me he doesn’t want to get close to me—as _friends_ , obviously.  But he keeps texting me to—to hang out,” Luke explained.

“Weird.  It’s like he’s afraid of commitment or something.  How did you say your friendship ended before?” Ashton asked, leaning back against the counter, arms folded against his chest.

“I didn’t,” Luke said tersely. 

There was silence for a moment, until Ashton blinked, seeming to realize Luke wasn’t going to elaborate further, stepping aside to reveal the remaining coke laid out on the counter.

“You want some?” he suggested casually, re-rolling the bill into a makeshift straw and holding it out towards Luke.

Luke stared at it, then down at the counter, hearing and feeling the heavy bass of the music playing in the hotel room party taking place just outside the bathroom door.  _‘No’_ was just on the tip of his tongue and he clenched his fist at his side, shaking his head.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said instead, swallowing hard and ignoring the tightness in his chest as he found himself reaching towards the hundred-dollar note, stepping forward as he took it from Ashton.


	8. New Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come along because I love your face  
> And I'll admire your expensive taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: this and the next one are kinda...sex-focused. But it's relationship building, I promise.......  
> Also sorry it's a couple of days late!

"You really look like shit today," Michael greeted from his seat at the kitchen island as Luke entered the apartment.  The blonde scowled at him, running a hand through his mussed hair in an attempt to smooth it, but remained unable to remedy the dark circles under his eyes.

"Fuck off," Luke said irritably, closing the door behind him and leaning back against the wood. He crossed his arms, checking his watch. "The driver is waiting outside with the car for us; _what_ was so important that _I_ needed to come up here?"

"I have something for you," Michael replied, unballing his fist to reveal a lump of light blue cloth.  

He tossed it in Luke's direction, who caught it and unfurled the thing to reveal a pair of women's underwear.  They were plain, inexpensive--a hint that they'd be ruined in some way or another by the end of the night. The younger boy stared at them, cheeks reddening, before looking up and wrinkling his nose at the redhead. 

"We don't have _time_ for kinky shit right now!  We're supposed to meet at the restaurant at seven-thirty and I'm sure Ashton's gonna be super pissy at me all night if we're late," Luke complained, exasperated.  He stepped further into the livingroom, placing the panties on top of an endtable, "So, you'll have to wait."

"It won't take long for you to put them on, then we can leave," Michael suggested, "I want you to wear them to dinner.  And to Ashton's house."

"Oh?  And what do _I_ get out of this?" Luke asked suspiciously, drumming his fingers against the table as he considered the proposition. 

"You get to wear women's panties in public, you depraved little bastard, you," the older boy reasoned with a wink.

* * *

 Upon their arrival to the popular four star restaurant, the chauffeur slid out from the driver's seat and hurried to open the back door of the car so Luke and Michael could exit the vehicle.  

They stepped out, Luke walking slightly ahead of Michael towards the entrance.  The redhead trotted up faster behind Luke, reaching out to shove the younger boy's t-shirt out of the way and snapped the waistband of the panties against his skin.  Luke whipped around, seizing Michael's fingers harshly. 

"Ow, stop it!  You're gonna pull 'em off!" Michael whined, trying to yank his hand out of the other's grip.  Luke tugged, unrelenting, pulling Michael so the pair was standing nose to nose.

" _Don't,_ " he warned in a near-growl.

"Jeez, okay, I was only joking, let go!" 

* * *

Luke quickly realized he should have torn Michael's fingers off when he'd had the chance.  Said fingers began to creep across Luke's thigh under the tablecloth almost as soon as they'd been seated.  

" _Michael,_ " the blonde hissed quietly as the hand reached his crotch and stayed there, trying not to attract the attention of the other dinner guests.  

Michael ignored him, slowly rubbing Luke through his jeans.  Luke was completely unsure of the gameplan; his body was responding to the touch but he'd made it clear to Michael he did not want a repeat of that night at Ashton's house, where he'd sat at the fire pit growing more and more sticky and uncomfortable with each passing moment-- _not_ sexy or exhibitionistic at all.  And, Luke noted, the pair would be missed if they decided to try and sneak off to the bathroom together.  Their party wasn't huge, just a handful of people that had attended a group vacation to Bali with Luke, Ashton, and Calum a few months ago and decided it was time to rekindle the friendship.  This included Bryana, who continued to ignore Ashton as he tried again and again to get her to speak to him, or even just look at him.  However, she was turned fully away from the brunette, elbows resting on the tabletop as she listened intently to a story Michael was telling that Luke couldn't bring himself to focus on.

The hand was withdrawn suddenly and completely when dinner arrived, Michael not even sparing Luke a sideways glance as he nonchalantly unwrapped his knife and fork from the napkin and began to eat.  Luke was left red-faced and panting slightly, glaring at the side of Michael's face incredulously for a moment before reluctantly picking up his own silverware, staring at the plate in front of him while he collected himself.

* * *

By the end of dinner, Luke was squirming in his seat and huffing out short breaths because Michael wouldn't _stop_ _fucking touching him_ on and off at random, inconvenient times.  Finally, when they'd paid the bill with a huge wad of cash tossed onto the center of the table, Michael stood up, pushing his chair in as he tapped Luke's shoulder gently to get his attention. 

"Luke, come on, you're my ride," Michael said casually, the others already grabbing their jackets, collecting their bags and other belongings.  Luke shot him a deadly glare, trying to quickly figure out a way to escape without the whole fucking crew noticing his seemingly random awkward boner. The redhead leaned down to Luke's level, whispering, "It's okay, it's so _small,_ they won't even notice how _hard_ you are."

Luke felt like the tips of his ears were lit aflame, felt a twist in his gut at Michael's words.  He grit his teeth and shoved at the table, forcing his chair away so he could stand, strategically clasping his hands in front of him to block his crotch.  Whether or not his erection was noticeable, he didn't even want to know, avoiding eye contact with any passersby and the paparazzi as he trudged back to the car.  He supposed he'd find out when the pictures hit the internet.

Once the van door slid shut with the pair safely inside, Luke smacked Michael in the chest harshly. 

"What!  The!  Fuck!  Are!  You!   _Doing?!_ " Luke shrieked, gripping Michael's shirt collar and shaking him roughly with each word. 

"I was just having a little fun," Michael said coolly, rolling his eyes as if Luke was completely overreacting, "Besides, you liked it, right?  Or you would have told me to stop.  God, you're blushing so hard.  You _love_ it."

Luke said nothing to argue against the older boy's point, cupping his own cheek with the palm of his hand; it felt hot to the touch.  He bristled, crossing his arms over his chest, resolving to stare out the window and ignore Michael (and his painful hard-on) for the rest of the car ride. 

* * *

After storming ahead of Michael and throwing himself headfirst into the throng of people crowded inside Ashton's mansion, Luke decided tonight would be a lovely night to get shitfaced.  

Many drinks, and nearly an equal amount of unfulfilling interactions later, Michael hadn't bugged Luke all night.  Luke was almost suspicious.  And needy.  He wasn't just wearing a pair of girl's underwear at a party for shits and giggles, damn it.  He pouted, slouched on the arm of the white sofa, checking his phone periodically to make sure Michael wasn't texting him to meet up somewhere, when he was approached by a pretty brunette with an offer to take shots with her. He agreed; he had nothing better to do, _apparently._

"So, what do you do?" Luke asked, mid-way through the conversation, adequately drunk enough to make himself believe he was having a great time at that point.  He swirled his vodka-cranberry around in his glass, switching back to mixed drinks after a few shots, "For a living, I mean."

"I'm an internet influencer," she said, like that was supposed to make any amount of sense.  Luke furrowed his brows, the confusion plain on his face.

"A _what?_ " he asked, squinting and leaning in closer.  Perhaps he hadn't heard her correctly.  He caught a flash of something red out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Michael walking towards them.

"Oi, Luke," Michael called, waving an arm as he approached, "I've been looking for you."

"Who's that?" the girl asked, gesturing towards the redhead. 

"My boyf--" Luke said, his brain apparently on some strange form of malfunctioning autopilot.  He froze, staring down into his drink for a moment before finally choking out, "My-- _chael_.  Michael, _uh,_ Clifford."

Luke looked up, meeting Michael's eyes, seeing the mildly surprised expression on the older boy's face before quickly glancing away, turning his gaze to the tiled floor.  

"Jeez, you're pretty drunk, babe.  Let's get some water and fresh air, huh?" Michael suggested, looping his hand into the crook of Luke's elbow and tugging gently, leading the blonde away from the conversation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lukes kinks, let me show you them


	9. Shake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They slap you like a bitch  
> and you take it like a whore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: smut & reference to abuse.

Luke found himself seated in a cushioned wicker chair at a matching glass-topped table, the backyard illuminated by the flickering flames of the fire pit and the faux-wood torches lining the concrete patio.  It was quieter outside, the noise and music absorbed into the night sky instead of vibrating loudly off the walls. 

He stared at the tall glass of water in front of him, glancing over at Michael’s full bottle of beer.  He looked at Michael, who was distracted in conversation with some dudes from the pop band One Direction, and reached for the beer.  Michael’s hand shot out and took Luke’s wrist before he could grasp it.

“That’s mine,” Michael said, letting go to slide the glass of water closer to Luke, “ _This_ is yours.”

“Where did _my_ drink go?” Luke asked, pushing the cup away, though secretly touched that Michael cared whether or not he was hydrated.

“You drank it.  After you finish your water, you can have another one,” Michael sighed, rolling his eyes.  Luke pouted, finally lifting the glass and chugging it down, glaring at the redhead over the rim. 

“There.  I drank it.  Get me another drink, _now,_ ” the blonde demanded, shoving the emptied cup in Michael’s face.  Michael stuck out his tongue but complied, returning a few moments later with a full drink for Luke and a second preemptive beer for himself.

* * *

 

As time passed, Luke could tell Michael was drunker than he was letting on, mostly due to the fact that he’d thrown one arm around Luke’s shoulders, scooting his chair as close to the other’s as possible, and had taken Luke’s hand into his own lap and was playing with the rings on the younger boy’s fingers with his free hand.  He also kept smiling pleasantly at Luke, laughing at his jokes, and was in the middle of telling the story of a fond memory from their past.  For a moment, it was like—like _before._   The blonde decided to get comfortable, resting his head back on Michael’s shoulder, uncaring of the setting they were in.  It’s not like the One Direction boys were in any position to blab about whatever gay shit they saw tonight. 

Luke started to get restless—and horny, wanting out of the women’s underwear he’d suddenly become hyper aware of after he’d stood up to grab one last drink, stretched his arms over his head, and caught a glimpse of the waistband.  He tapped his foot on the ground impatiently, eventually pulling away from Michael to get his attention.

“Michael, we should go soon,” he half-suggested.

“In a while, babe,” Michael replied, squeezing Luke’s shoulder in an attempt to get the boy to relax against him once more, satisfied when Luke cooperated with minimal grumbling.

Michael reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lifting one to his lips and lighting it up.  Luke took the opportunity to give the redhead a taste of his own medicine, snaking his hand back in between Michael’s legs, squeezing his dick through his pants.  Michael jumped, almost spitting the cigarette onto the table.

“Michael,” Luke said casually, palming the older boy under the table, “I think it’s time to go.”

“O—okay,” the older boy sputtered, rushing to stand and stomp out his barely-smoked cigarette, “Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

Behind the protection of the heavily tinted windows of the black SUV, Luke straddled Michael as the vehicle sped down the freeway towards the apartment.  He quickly unbuttoned the redhead’s black jeans, shoving a hand down his boxers while grinding mindlessly against the other boy’s thigh. 

“Mm, you’re such a little slut, aren’t you?  Can't even wait twenty minutes,” Michael purred when Luke finally allowed him air between kisses.  The blonde slid down to his knees on the carpeted floor of the car between Michael’s legs, looking up at the older boy with a wide grin.

* * *

 

20 minutes and a mouth full of cum later, the car finally stopped outside of Michael’s apartment building.  Luke lifted his head from where it rested against Michael’s denim-covered thigh, peeking out the window for any possible stalker fans waiting outside the entrance before cautiously popping the door open, stepping out.  He made sure to give the driver a few hundred-dollar bills as a reward for not immediately committing suicide from listening to Luke gagging on a cock in the backseat.  He’d seen worse over the years anyway.

* * *

 

“The safeword is ‘Ryan Reynolds,’” Michael grunted, fastening the silky rope around Luke’s wrists, securing his arms to the headboard.  He gave them a tug, “Is this okay?  Too tight?”

"I'm good," Luke confirmed, shaking his head.  Then, as the previous words finally registered in his alcohol-impaired brain, "Why Ryan Reynolds?"

"I like Ryan Reynolds," Michael shrugged, folding his legs under him as he sat back and inspected his work.  Luke was blindfolded, and naked, except for the pair of blue panties, the front of which sporting a stain from their quick car hookup.  He felt exposed and embarrassed and a little nervous, and he was so _hard_. An all-consuming blush crept down his body as he felt Michael's fingers ghosting down his torso, stopping at the waistband of the underwear, tugging slightly. "What would everyone think, if they could see you right now?  Tied to a bed wearing nothing but a pair of ruined girl's panties, and you fucking love it," Michael wondered, "Should I take a picture and send it to your mother?  Your little cock looks just _adorable_ like this."

"Nngh," Luke groaned in answer as Michael freed his dick from the confines of the panties, leaving them pulled down around his thighs, stroking his length lightly.  After far too long, his hips bucked up involuntarily, trying to get more friction.  In response, the redhead instead placed his flat palm on Luke's lower stomach, pushing him back down. 

"Stay down," he ordered, waiting for Luke to quit wiggling his legs and whining in protest before continuing.  This time, he wrapped his hand around the younger boy's cock and began jerking him off quickly.  Luke's breath became labored and he let out a moan as Michael thumbed the sensitive head. 

"Michael, Michael," the blonde panted, his back arching up into Michael's touch, "I'm gonna, I'm gonna-- Oh my _god_ , I'm coming, _I'mcomingI'mcoming--_ "

"No, you're not," Michael said shortly, pulling away completely.  Luke grit his teeth, frustrated, thrusting his hips upwards in a blind attempt to find where Michael's hand had gone. 

"Michael, I'm, I'm right _there, please,_ " he whined through his teeth, wriggling around in his bonds.  To his dismay, Michael said nothing, waiting until Luke's heavy breathing became more even to go right back in where he'd started with the feather-light touches, before moving on to quick-paced strokes.  Over his own sounds and Michael's verbal encouragement, Luke heard a cap click open, and the touching stopped again briefly, resuming after just a moment when he felt a lubed finger prodding at his entrance.  It entered him, thrusting in and out gently, before a second, and slowly, a third, were added, stretching him out before he was again brought to the edge by the hand pumping his length. 

Luke was nearly in tears by the time Michael was finished toying with him, gripping the metal frame of the headboard securely with both hands, his breath coming out in quiet sobs.  He jerked his body within the restraints as Michael took away his hand yet again at the _last_ possible second.  He really thought he'd make it that time, he was _thisfuckingclose_. 

"I can't, Michael, please, please, I can't," he babbled, shaking his head as a plea to end his suffering.  Michael leaned down, kissing Luke deeply on the mouth.  Luke responded immediately, eager to please, while Michael slid the blindfold up and out of the younger boy's sandy-colored hair.  The redhead pulled back a few inches, stopping Luke from following him with a thumb pressed to his lips.  He stared Luke in the eyes, hovering close to his face, as Luke ran his tongue over the invading finger. 

"Okay?" the older boy murmured.  Luke nodded.  Michael pulled back a little more, repeating himself. "I _said,_ are you okay?"

"I'm okay, that was good," Luke answered verbally this time, twisting his head to the side to wipe his slightly teary eyes on his own arm. 

"Good," Michael replied simply, leaning back further to pull the panties all the way down Luke's long legs, discarding them onto the floor, and then aligning himself with Luke's asshole, pushing in slowly.  Luke sucked in a gasp when Michael bottomed out, almost  _almost_  pressing just right on the bundle of nerves inside him.  Michael's thrusts sped up, his fingers roughly grabbing onto Luke's skin, letting out little whimpers as his body was pounded into the mattress.  Luke felt one of Michael's hands reach between them to continue jacking him off while he was being fucked.  He bit his lip, making a strangled sound while digging his heels into Michael's back, his feet the only part of his body that was free to do as Luke willed. 

"Michael," he moaned, screwing his eyes shut.  He was finally going to--

"Don't come until I say you can, slut," Michael demanded, abandoning Luke's cock to grip his chin instead, "Got it?  Look at me, you brat."

Luke groaned in response, obeying the order in hopes that it was the quickest way to relieve his painful hardness.  Michael's thrusts increased in force, the entire bed creaking, and he fisted his hands in the sheets nearest Luke's shoulders, his green eyes boring straight into the younger boy's as he came with a loud moan, finally slowing down before stopping completely, pulling out. 

"Mikey," Luke whined, his old pet name for the redhead, "Please let me come, please, touch me."

"Remember what I said," the older boy warned, taking Luke's cock in hand for what would hopefully be the last time for the night.  

"Can I please come," Luke whispered after just a few strokes, eager to find release after so long. 

"No.  Shut up," Michael said casually, not slowing down.  The blonde's lower lip quivered and he thought he really might start crying soon.

"Michael, I can't, I have to, I _have_ to, please, I can't do this, _please,_ " Luke begged desperately, the familiar tightening feeling passing over his abdomen before he was coming, hard, with a choked-off scream.  His whole body was shaking, and he could swear he almost blacked out from the force of it.  When he felt that he was back on this planet, he was gasping for breath, covered in a sheen of sweat, and his body was-- trying to escape from Michael, who was continuing to pump his softening cock.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Luke asked, attempting to pull away, but having nowhere to escape to, "I'm-- I'm done."

"You think you can just do whatever you want with no consequences, brat?  You're gonna come again," Michael stated, forcing Luke to look at him with a hand yanking at his blonde hair.  Luke flushed even more, if possible, feeling himself getting hard again at the mere suggestion. _Oh, fuck yes, he would._  Michael's grip on his hair became tighter as his hand thrust faster, descending upon the younger boy until they were nose to nose.  Luke suddenly felt uneasy, looking at the redhead's expression, his gut twisting like something terrible was about to happen to him. "You can't even do one thing right," Michael gritted out, "You stupid little _bitch._ "

 _Stupid little bitch._  Nothing like your father's favorite nickname during sex to make you want to swiftly kill yourself. 

"Ryan Reynolds," Luke breathed, eyes wide.  Michael stilled, unsure of the issue but respecting his wish to stop whatever the reason. "I'm done now," he said, swallowing hard, "Untie me."

Eyebrows furrowed, Michael obliged, tossing the silky bonds aside to rub at Luke's wrists and arms, a little sore from the position they'd been held in.  Michael said nothing as he sat back and stared at Luke expectantly, as if waiting for an explanation.  When he received none, Michael decided to ask a question of his own for clarification. 

"Was that too much or...?" he asked, "If I hurt you, you should tell me so I don't do it again."

"It's, uh," Luke stuttered, not really open to talking about this, "It was good, _really good_ , I just, didn't like that last bit.  With the hair pulling and name-calling." 

"You like hair-pulling," Michael countered, " _And_ name-calling."

"Not together, I guess," Luke scoffed, sitting up to hug himself defensively. 

"Fine," Michael said, looking at Luke strangely, "I'll make a note of it.  Were you planning on crashing here?"

"Yeah, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, it's late.  Make yourself comfortable, then.  I'm gonna go shower," Michael shrugged, sitting on the edge of the mattress, moving to get up.  He turned, but was stopped by Luke's hand seizing his wrist. 

"Wait," Luke exclaimed, feeling like he _really_ needed head pats and back rubs right now or else he'd have some sort of embarrassing post-sex breakdown, "Stay.  Let's cuddle."

"That's not a part of-- of _this,_ " Michael argued, wrinkling his nose at the younger boy like it was the most repulsive idea in the world, "I don't want to."

"You were _mean,_ " Luke grumbled, frowning up at the redhead, squeezing Michael's wrist. 

"It was rough sex, get over it," Michael rolled his eyes, trying to pull himself out of Luke's grip.

" _Cuddle,_ " Luke demanded with a growl, using his other arm to aid in the struggle to tug Michael Clifford back into bed.

"For fucks sake, Luke!" Michael cried irritably, yanking his arm back forcefully and whipping around to face Luke head-on. 

Suddenly, a horrible thought flashed through Luke's mind and he shrunk back against the bed, scrambling to the other side, away from Michael.  The older boy gaped at the blonde, his shaking hands covering his face in defense.  After a moment of zero offensive movements, he lowered them, grinning up at Michael with a nervous laugh. 

"I thought-- I thought you were going to _hit_ me," Luke admitted sheepishly, taking a few shaky breaths before somewhat relaxing against the mattress.  Michael frowned at him, wordlessly getting back into bed, facing Luke.  He edged closer, hesitantly inviting the younger boy to curl up against his chest, his hands stroking Luke's spine soothingly. 

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know, I'm really sorry," Luke said quickly, embarrassed he'd even thought such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, the last chapter, and the next chapter were all supposed to be just one chapter but it just kept getting more elaborate and lengthy as I was writing it lmaooo


	10. Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stumble til you crawl.

A strange feeling of homesickness began to overwhelm Luke as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of Michael's neck, digging his fingernails into the skin of the older boy's sides like it would stop him from ever leaving. 

"Michael," he whispered, tugging himself even closer, their bodies flush against one another's, "I--miss you."

"Luke," Michael warned, carding his fingers through the younger boy's hair, "You're drunk.  Go to sleep."

"I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you hate me."

He felt Michael stiffen against him and sensed he'd made a misstep.

"Oh, you mean, being a manipulative and abusive piece of shit?  And cheating on me?" The redhead scoffed, pulling back slightly. 

"I didn't mean to," Luke swallowed, "It was a mistake."

"Great.  As long as you didn't _mean_ to, I guess it doesn't matter.  Just fuck off and go to sleep."

Luke's heart felt like it had dropped out of his ribcage, bouncing off the mattress and hitting the floor.  He licked his lips, at a loss for words. 

"I'm sorry I cheated on you," he admitted, after a silence. 

"Okay," Michael replied. 

"And I'm sorry I was manipulative and for the times I made you feel like shit."

"Okay," Michael said with a slight shrug. 

"I just miss you _caring_ about me," Luke said, his voice cracking embarrassingly, clutching onto the older boy even tighter, burying his face into his soft skin.  He didn't know why he was saying it now, knowing Michael would never reciprocate, but he had to admit that it felt _good_ having someone checking on him to make sure he was okay, even if it was just while Luke was tied up and blindfolded wearing nothing but a pair of panties.  He couldn't remember the last time someone cared if he was comfortable and safe without a cash incentive.

Michael sighed, like he was deeply exhausted by the conversation. 

"Luke, you're drunk.  Please, _please_ just go to sleep now," he repeated again, wriggling onto his back, inviting Luke to lie on top of him.  After a moment of adjusting, he reached over to flick off the bedside lamp, leaving the pair shrouded in darkness.

Head resting on the older boy's shoulder, Luke's eyes remained open in the dark room, though he stayed silent.  Michael's fingernails lightly scratched up and down Luke's bare back in an attempt to lull the younger boy to sleep.  It began to work, after a time, Luke's eyelids starting to droop as he settled in further, still uneasy.

* * *

The blonde blinked against the sunlight flowing in through the slits of the bedroom curtains.  He didn't remember falling asleep.  Michael was still unconscious beneath him, snoring quietly.  

 _'Thank God,'_ Luke thought as he plucked himself off the bed as gently as he could, so as not to disturb the older boy.  He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring down at the floor between his legs.  _'I need a fucking shower,'_ he mused, running a hand through his dirty hair as his stomach tied itself into knots.  He didn't know what possessed him to say that bullshit last night, but now Michael was going to wake up and think he had something to hold over Luke's head, the younger boy was sure.  The redhead stirred, arms groping around for a body that was no longer beside him.  He was still fast asleep but the movement made Luke reconsider showering _before_ his departure, opting to dress quickly and step into the hall to text his chauffeur to pick him up from Michael's address.

Luke sat in the living room armchair, boot tapping anxiously on the carpet.  Finally, he received the phone call to alert him that the car was outside waiting for him, and he rushed out the door, hearing Michael's bed creaking as the older boy woke up and wondered where Luke had gone. 

* * *

 **hemmings:** busy tonight ?

Luke's fingers hovered hesitantly over the _'Send'_ button on the screen of his iPhone before he mustered the strength to go through with it.  He waited.  It had been over a week since-- the last time they'd seen each other, and Luke was fucking stressed.  His parents were pissed off about TV show ratings, Luke's coming in at the second place slot in terms of Thursday night dramas, though all in all, the blonde was doing _ridiculously well_ for himself and had even been offered roles in movies alongside A-list film actors as the season started to air.  He'd done more than a few lines of coke over the past week courtesy of _Ashton and Company_ , and while each inhale temporarily fixed all of his life's issues, the comedown left him with awful feelings of depression and anxiety eating away at him, which in turn caused him to need _more_.  If he didn't find something better to occupy himself with, it was about to become a huge fucking problem.  Again.  Which would also piss off his parents.   _Again._  Barring the fact that he was undeniably an utter disappointment to everyone around him and he was very likely better off dead, Luke was also just kind of fucking bored.  He lounged on the couch in his own living room, binge-watching episodes of _How I Met Your Mother_ on Netflix, as he'd been doing for hours now, having already slept off his hangover from the previous night.

 **hemmings:** michael you know i dont like double texting

   are you sleeping or something ?

Two more episodes passed by on the massive television screen in front of him.  Luke picked up his phone, checking the chat with Michael to ensure he hadn't actually missed anything.  He hadn't, except for the fact that the older boy had his read receipts on, which showed that he'd seen Luke's texted approximately forty-five minutes ago, and hadn't responded.

 **hemmings:** k cool thanks

* * *

 **Michael Clifford:** hey

The nineteen year old glared at the message on his phone, deciding whether or not he should just pretend he hadn't received it out of spite for the redhead.

 **hemmings:** what kept you so busy that you couldnt find the time to text me back in the past 3 days ?

 **Michael Clifford:** sorry, plans tonight?

Luke wrinkled his nose in annoyance before he aggressively tapped out his reply.

 **hemmings:** im busy, going on jimmy kimmel in a bit ...

 **Michael Clifford:** fine i'll just text someone else lmao

 **hemmings:** thats not fair fuck you

Seeing that Michael had read the text and hadn't replied yet again, Luke stomped his foot, frustrated.

 **hemmings:** i'll be home by 11, is that okay ???

Michael's reply was almost instant, frustrating Luke further as he realized he'd played right into the older boy's hands.

 **Michael Clifford:** 11 sounds good, see you soon.

It became somewhat of a pattern after that, Michael seeming to keep control of their interactions by ignoring any requests to meet up from Luke, acting like nothing was wrong when he invited the blonde over a day or two later instead.  Complaining was no use, as the older boy spoke as if he were more than willing to move on to the next booty call, and Luke-- well, Luke's other hookup contacts had been collecting dust in the dark recesses of his phone ever since this whole thing started, and hadn't even been considered viable options for some odd reason unknown to Luke himself.

* * *

"Darling, we really need to do something about those bags under your eyes," Luke's mother remarked, looking up at her son from underneath the wide brim of her sunhat, reaching up to cup both of his cheeks, "You certainly inherited the family looks, you just don't take care of yourself properly."

Luke frowned, gently prying one of his mother's hands off of him with his free hand, the other clutching a half-full glass of champagne.  His face grew hot as she casually turned back around to continue her conversation with her friends about Luke's appearance as if he wasn't even there, exchanging advice on how to _"perfect"_ him somehow.  He should style his hair differently.  He should go out in the sun more.  He should go out in the sun less.  He should lose a little weight.  He should bulk up.  A change in wardrobe would be ideal, a little preppier perhaps?  It was nauseating to listen to, and it seemed never-ending.

The blonde fucking hated when his parents held daytime parties at their house, full of their out-of-touch-with-reality friends, mostly business partners and trophy wives and absolutely no one interesting.  Luke wasn't allowed to hide indoors or leave the premises at times like these, being forced to mingle and act the part of the model son, along with being the resident celebrity to gawk at and brag about meeting later.  He tried to hide his growing sneer as his mother's shallow and vapid conversation shifted to a discussion on a young starlet's plastic surgeries and how they would _'never allow such a thing in their households.'_

 _'Yeah fucking right, Susan, your sixteen year old daughter's had like, three different fucking noses by now,'_ Luke thought, rolling his eyes as he downed his champagne in one go.  He twirled the empty flute between his fingers for a moment before excusing himself to retrieve another glass.

* * *

"Any _special someones_ in your life, Luke?" One of his mother's friends asked, when the topic of Kendall Jenner's summer fling came up.  Luke eyed the woman skeptically, knowing that whatever he said would likely show up in a magazine a few days later as coming from _'a source close to the Hemmings.'_  He finished swallowing his sip of champagne before answering.

"I'm more of a _hit it and quit it_ type of guy when it comes to girls," he said with a wink.  His response was met with a swift smack in the arm by his mother and a slightly horrified stare from the group.  It was all according to plan, of course-- the plan being that Luke would get embarrassingly drunk, so much so that his mother would no longer be able to stand him hovering over her shoulder and she'd simply send him to his room to sleep it off before anyone could notice her perfect son was wasted at two o'clock in the afternoon because he had an _issue_ with alcohol.

"He's joking.  He's at that snarky age, you know," she explained quickly, before turning to address her son, gripping his sleeve, "Would you mind going into the kitchen and grabbing my purse for me, dear?  I just realized, I don't have my phone on me."

That was bullshit, Luke could see the outline of her phone through the custom-made pockets on her dress.  She was trying to get rid of him, take a break for a few minutes.  Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is.....late..........aaaahhhhh!!!! i had so much homework this week!!!  
> also thank you to everyone who has given kudos/commented/bookmarked/shared this fic :')


	11. Arrogant boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cause a scene like you're supposed to,  
> They'll fall asleep without you  
> You're lucky if your memory remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter trigger warning for physical/emotional abuse.  
> Most takes place between 1st and 2nd pagebreak.

Luke traipsed indoors, forgetting what he'd been sent in for by the time he neared the kitchen.  It hardly mattered, though, since he hadn't planned on going back outside until he was unacceptably drunk.  

He stopped at the bar, tucking a bottle of scotch under his arm before entering the kitchen, interrupting the party caterers to request a glass with ice.  Said object was retrieved quickly after Luke shot an unmoving caterer a glare, who then gave him an odd look as he retreated alone to the other side of the kitchen island, pulling out a sleek stool and uncapping the bottle as he sat down.  

The blonde took the time to scroll leisurely down his Twitter feed for twenty or so minutes, swinging his legs idly from his tall seat.  He attempted to author a tweet of his own, but found it hard to type coherently, which brought him to the conclusion that it was again time to bother his mother.  This idea was further supported seconds later when he received a text from the woman herself.

"You have not been excused from this event.  Come back outside.  Now," it said.

* * *

_'Ma'am, no offense, but you're twice my age and you're no Kourtney Kardashian,'_ Luke thought, subtly shifting away from the woman's hand on his bicep, the owner of said hand having been shamelessly flirting with the teen boy for the entire duration of the time he'd been back outdoors.  The group turned dead silent, and that's when Luke realized he'd spoken his thoughts allowed.  He burst out laughing, thoroughly amused by his mother's livid stare and clenched fists.  

Luke's laughter died immediately when he opened his eyes and saw his father standing just a few feet away, looking equally as pissed off as his wife.  Their eyes met briefly and Luke took a step back at the same time his father took a step toward him.  He hadn't calculated for the older man's involvement; annoying his mother was generally harmless fun.  Luke jumped as a heavy hand came down to rest on the back of his neck, leading him back into the house.  He suddenly wanted to stay outside with the rest of the fucking boring old people and have a fucking boring old time.

"I'm sorry, I was being stupid," Luke said, trying to shrink away from the man's grip as he was hauled back into the kitchen by the scruff of his neck.  The caterers were gone now, leaving the pair alone.  The kitchen was his least favorite place to have confrontations by far-- simple utensils could become weapons or flying projectiles within seconds.

"I know what the fuck you're doing," the older man hissed, pushing the blonde away from him, causing Luke to bump his hip painfully on the edge of the marble counter top. "Do you think it's _funny?_  To embarrass this family?"

Luke braced himself against the counter behind him in a white-knuckled grip.  He said nothing, swallowing hard as he cautiously cast his gaze towards the floor, bowing his head in submission.  Apparently dissatisfied with the lack of response, his father backhanded him harshly and without warning.  Luke tasted blood, his chest starting to heave as his body began to panic, but he had nowhere to go.  The older man seized the collar of the boy's shirt with both hands, dragging him forward.

"Your mother and I have been _very_ patient with you for the last few months while you haven't managed to _stop fucking everything up,_ but now you are _really_ walking on thin ice.   _Especially_ ," he spat, "With this Michael Clifford bullshit."

Luke felt his heart skid to a halt.  He wanted to puke, the champagne and scotch mixing unpleasantly in his stomach.  If his father knew, he was dead.  Literally.  Fucking.   _Dead._  If--

"If the police _ever_ drag you to my doorstep like that again, if you _ever_ humiliate us in the media like that again--"

The blonde stopped listening, sobbing in relief that his father was _still_ hung up about that stupid fucking _fight_ at Ashton's birthday party, not some sex tape that had somehow leaked without Luke knowing.  His eyes were squeezed shut as the older man continued to rant at him, bending him over backwards against the marble, his spine arched awkwardly.  Luke felt the fingers fisted in his clothing retreat briefly before they were squeezing threateningly around his throat.  His father likely clued into the fact that Luke couldn't hear a fucking thing over his pounding heartbeat and thus probably hadn't answered a question properly.

"Stop that, there are guests just outside!  What if someone wandered into the kitchen and saw you strangling your son?!" Luke's mother's voice cut through the roaring in the teen's ears, and he felt the vice-like grip on his throat loosen until he wasn't being touched at all.  He sucked in harsh breaths, sputtering a bit.  He opened his eyes to see his mother staring down her husband sternly, the man's arms folded across his chest.

"He was being a fucking _pig!_  Should I just let him do whatever the hell he wants?" he asked, still thoroughly pissed.

"Deal with him _later,_ " she gritted out, ushering his father in the direction of the back door as the man rolled his eyes and complied with exaggerated exasperation, as if it were a ridiculous request for him to stop terrorizing his child at an afternoon get-together.

Luke eased himself down to the tiled floor, scooting backwards on his ass until his back knocked into the corner where the oven door met the kitchen cabinets.  Moments later, he felt an ice pack being held to his cheek, a painful welt forming where his father's wedding ring had hit him.

"Oh, honey, you're okay, don't cry," his mother soothed, crouching next to him and petting his hair, "Things like this wouldn't happen if you stopped provoking your father."

Luke nodded in understanding. Then, "I don't feel good," he said, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand, his mouth suddenly filling with saliva.  He tried to stand up, which proved to be a mistake as his vision went topsy-turvy and he found himself doubling over to vomit on the floor, the splatter narrowly missing his mother's high-heeled shoes. "Sorry, please don't tell him I made a mess, _please,_ I'm fucking _sorry_ , I'll clean it up," he sobbed, wringing his sweaty hands in front of him anxiously.

"Just go upstairs and have a nap, baby.  Don't worry about it," his mother said gently, helping Luke to straighten himself without falling over and handing him the soft ice pack.  She looked down at the mess on the floor, wrinkling her nose in disgust, "You didn't need to keep all those crab puffs you devoured anyway."

* * *

The _'nap'_ , as his mother suggested, turned out to be more of a _'passing out'_ , that lasted about three hours.  Luke was out cold as soon as he faceplanted onto his bed, sleeping like a rock until he woke up sweaty, disoriented, and with a pounding headache.  He glanced at his phone, groaning at the bright light from the screen, reading that it was just before 7:00 PM, and that he hadn't, in fact, somehow traveled several lightyears into the future.  

A fist hammered loudly at his locked bedroom door, which, Luke realized, was probably the reason he'd woken up.  His stomach did a flip as he hesitantly sat up and walked towards the door.

"Leave him _alone,_ dear!  He was just being an annoying teenager, it's _over!_ " he heard his mother's voice shout from a short distance away, likely down the hall.  The banging on the door paused as he heard his father mutter something indecipherable to his wife, then it resumed.

"Yes?" he called, voice cracking childishly.

"Open the door, _now,_ " came his father's voice.  Luke glanced out of the window that faced the backyard, noting that it was empty of party guests.  Luke grimaced, reaching a shaking hand towards the doorknob, unclicking the lock as he turned the handle.

* * *

"Please pick up..." Luke groaned to himself after ringing Ashton's phone for the fifth time.  He knew the curly-haired boy couldn't be _that_ busy, and he'd hoped that by the third call, Ashton would realize that he should fucking answer.  After his father was finished using Luke as a punching bag and his mother had offered little comfort, Luke found himself needing a distraction before he went _completely_ ballistic.  He glared at his phone as the ringing turned to voicemail, and he decided to try Calum.

"Aw, no, don't answer _that!_  Whatever he wants, say _no!_ " Luke heard Ashton moan immediately in the background, after Calum answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" the brown-eyed boy said.

"Hey, what's up?" Luke asked half-heartedly, completely discouraged after hearing Ashton's words.

"C'mon, Calum, he probably wants to hang out or something, and I'm _not_ in the mood for his whining."

"Ssshhhh!" Calum shushed, "Uh, not much, Luke.  What's going on?" 

"Luke?  You there?" Calum asked, after a few moments of silence from Luke's end.

"Yeah, I... sorry to bother you.  I was gonna ask you something, but I'll just call someone else," Luke said.

"Are you okay?" the older boy asked.

"No," the blonde said earnestly.

"...I'll text you later or something, bro.  I gotta go, bye."

"Yeah, bye," Luke answered with a frown.

* * *

"The fuck are you _calling_ for?  I was trying to play League and suddenly my phone's buzzing all over the place.  What do you want?" Michael snapped upon answering Luke's phonecall. 

"I just--Just wanted to... _talk,_ " Luke replied lamely, his voice wavering, "I tried Ashton and Calum, but they didn't...they didn't answer."

"What's up?" the redhead sighed, "Where are you?"

 


	12. Safe bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it makes you less sad  
> we'll start talking again,  
> you can tell me how vile I already know that I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any big warnings needed for this chapter, just heed the fic tags as usual.

"I'm here," Michael's voice crackled through the speaker, "Come outside.  I'm in the van outside the gate."

"Thanks for coming to get me," Luke said quietly as he finished packing an overnight bag, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, "You didn't need to do that."

"Yeah, whatever, just hurry up and get out here before your security guy kicks my ass for getting too close to the _sacred Hemmings property_ ," Michael replied, the eye-roll evident in his voice.

* * *

The blonde trudged down the stairs with a Saint Laurent duffle bag filled haphazardly with an assortment of clothes slung over his shoulder.  He wanted to barf as he passed by his parents feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries and clinking their wine glasses together at a table in front of a large window that faced the fountain and garden outside.  Luke rolled his eyes at their nauseating display of affection and decided to move on without an interaction, but was stopped dead in his tracks by his father's voice.

"Luke," he said. 

Luke turned around, his lungs filling with ice.  He could _not_ do this again.

"Y-yeah?" he croaked.

" _Behave,_ " the older man said sternly, giving Luke a grave look before turning his attention back to his wife.

"Yeah, of course," the nineteen year old said quickly, bolting for the door and all but sprinting down the long driveway.  He was panting by the time he arrived at Michael's van, tearing the door open and scrambling inside like a child escaping the basement after turning the lights off.  Michael took the bag from him and tossed it into the backseat.

He was breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest as his whole body shook.  His father had said just _one_ word to him and he felt like puking.  He was so _fucking pathetic,_ he thought, balling his hands into fists.

Luke screamed through his teeth, enraged at himself, slamming his fists into the dashboard repeatedly.  He probably looked absolutely fucking nuts, shrieking as he ferociously pummeled the interior of the car, seeing red.  

Michael waited patiently until Luke was done with his tantrum.  The blonde leaned back against the leather seat, tense, breathing harshly through his nose.  The older boy reached over to gently brush Luke's bangs out of his face, but Luke jerked out of reach violently, slapping Michael's hand away as he retreated to the furthest corner of the passenger seat.

" _Don't fucking touch me!_ " he snapped, a feral cat slashing its claws blindly at a perceived threat.  Michael stared at him, bewildered, but withdrew his hand slowly nonetheless.  Luke felt immediately guilty for lashing out, burying his face in his hands, dragging them over his skin as he forced himself to breathe while he counted to ten a few times. "I'm sorry.  Really."

"I shouldn't have assumed that was okay for me to do," Michael shrugged, after a beat.  He turned his gaze back to the steering wheel, pulling off the side of the road and into the street.  Luke rested his head against the cool glass of the window, his eyes flickering over to Michael, who was watching the road intently.  He studied the redhead's profile, the way his green eyes literally sparkled with the reflection of the moon and stars, the slight upturn of his lips, the eyebrow piercing he'd gotten on his birthday after his mom had told him not to, when he'd squeezed Luke's hand so hard he swore his fingers were going to pop right off.  Luke felt his own face, tight with furrowed eyebrows and flaring nostrils and deep frown lines, relax to match the quiet peacefulness he saw in Michael's features.  As if sensing Luke's eyes on him, Michael glanced over at the younger boy briefly, causing Luke to swiftly tear his gaze away.

"You good?" Michael asked.  The blonde nodded quickly in answer.  Then, his stomach growled loudly, as if to say _'no, we're not good.'_ The older boy continued to drive for a bit, before suddenly pulling into a McDonalds parking lot. "I'm hungry too."

Luke blinked, staring at the golden arches. 

"I-- ate too much today," he said, throat tight.  

"And then you were sick.  You need food," Michael argued, recalling what Luke had told him on the phone, "And I want a Big Mac."

The blonde failed to argue further, not wanting to upset Michael; he simply wasn't in the mood for a screaming match nor did he want this night to end with the older boy dropping him off on the side of a road somewhere, a shout of _"You can just fucking walk home!"_ trailing behind the van as it sped away, as _in-car arguments_ with his parents had regularly gone.  He heard Michael unbuckling his seat belt and the click of the car door as he opened it.

"Come on," Michael said, looking at Luke expectantly.

"I don't want anyone to recognize me," the younger boy said weakly.  Michael scoffed.

"That enormous ego of yours hasn't gone anywhere," he said.  He twisted around, searching the back seat for something, before turning back towards Luke with a trucker hat, adorned with a logo of a bear and the words _'California Love'._  The redhead plopped it onto Luke's head.  "There.  You're practically invisible."

* * *

"I shouldn't have ordered this," Luke said miserably, staring down at the meal in front of him, "My mom's gonna be pissed at me."

"You ever think that your mom's just a bitch?" Michael suggested, mouth full of fries, "If she didn't bitch at you about one thing, she'd bitch at you for another.  It really doesn't matter what you do."

"It does when she gets my father on my case about it.  I don't enjoy, like, _getting murdered._ "

"Your dad is Satan reincarnated, and you know it," Michael replied, lounging back in his seat at the booth, sucking on the straw of his soda, "Neither of them deserve to call themselves parents.  You need to move out, ASAP."

"I wish it was that easy," Luke sighed, "I dunno what they'd do.  My dad handles most of my finances, so...  Goodbye to pretty much everything I've worked for.  I don't even know what's _mine_ at this point."

" _Someone_ would have to help you, like, the resources _have_ to be out there," Michael reasoned, "People could give less of a shit about your parents, _you're_ what everyone wants.  You're Luke fucking Hemmings.  Enjoy your damn McNuggets like a fucking king."

A gang of teen girls sitting in a booth across the restaurant from the pair seemed to perk up as Michael finished his pep talk more loudly than intended.  Michael cringed as they whipped their heads over and made direct eye contact with the nineteen-year-olds.  They'd been spotted.

"Sorry."

* * *

"I could have just told them to fuck off, like I was the one who didn't want to deal with it," the older boy offered as he slid back into the driver's seat in his van, "It was my fault they came over anyway."

"No, it was fine.  I saw that one girl almost start crying, I wouldn't have been able to reject her."

* * *

 

The two boys had watched as the group of girls worked up the courage to come over and interrupt Michael and Luke's late dinner.  They kept slapping each other in the arms animatedly, as if to say, "No, _you_ go over there first!"  Finally, they'd approached, at first making polite casual conversation for several minutes until they felt it was appropriate to take their selfies and give out their Twitter usernames, before scurrying out the door, squealing in excitement.  Afterwards, Luke scarfed down his food, shoving several chicken nuggets down his throat at once, standing up and grabbing his emptied tray.

"What are you doing?" Michael had asked, looking up at him quizzically.

"We gotta go, before they send _more,_ " Luke had replied ominously around a mouthful of food, throwing his black denim jacket over one shoulder.

"Yeah right," the redhead had replied, taking his time to finish his 49-cent ice cream cone, ignoring Luke's words of encouragement to hurry the fuck up.

"We have ten minutes, tops."

* * *

 

"I'll be damned," Michael whispered reverently as he stared into the rear view mirror, watching the blue pickup truck that the fans had arrived in return to the parking lot, this time followed by two more full cars, "You were right."

Luke laughed, ducking down in the passenger seat, trying to conceal himself, though Michael's red hair shining in their headlights was a huge fucking landmark for them.

"Fucking go!" he urged, smiling as he was entertained by Michael's reaction of wide eyes and a gaping mouth, "Don't go directly to your house, they'll find us."

"Don't worry, I've beaten this level in _many_ video games before," Michael said with a smirk, pressing the gas pedal to the floor, speeding away from the scene.

 

 

 


	13. Lamb/Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He whispers that he loves [him],  
> but [he's] probably only looking for se-...so much more than he could ever give;  
> A life free of lies and a meaningful relationship.
> 
> He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.  
> He waits for it to end  
> and for the aching in his guts to subside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: smut.  
> 2nd to 3rd pagebreak is the explicit part, I'm assuming if you've made it this far you're fine with less descriptive sexual acts.

Luke didn't really know how this night had escalated so  _far_.

Trailing behind Michael as he let the two of them into his apartment, the older boy had seemed hesitant to engage in any lewd behavior.  Probably out of consideration for Luke's previously fragile mental state.  Instead, he'd suggested a significantly less intense activity-- marathoning the _Harry Potter_ films.  Luke had felt a little awkward just _hanging out_ at Michael Clifford's house with no expectations, after getting used to it being a den for solely sexual encounters.

The blonde carried the heaping bowl of popcorn into the living room, standing in front of Michael, who was already seated on the couch.  Luke was tense for a moment after plopping down dangerously close to the redhead, unsure if Michael had expected Luke to sit on the other end of the sofa, or even on the armchair next to it.  However, his uncertainty was resolved when the older boy scooted in closer still, swinging one leg over to link with Luke's.

One minute they were watching the young wizards solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, and then Michael made some shitty joke about the Basilisk in _his own_ pants, and the next minute, Luke had his hand shoved into Michael's boxers as he straddled the older boy on the couch.  Michael took Luke's lipring between his own teeth, tugging on it the entire time he lead the blonde into the bedroom.

* * *

 

"Really?  Calvin Klein underwear?" Michael scoffed, tugging Luke's skin-tight jeans down his legs, "What are you, _Justin Bieber?_ "

"I have a sponsorship," Luke said, rolling his eyes as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor.

"That's funny, considering," Michael said, leaning forward until the tip of his nose was touching Luke's, his hot breath fanning across the blonde's face as he cupped Luke's growing bulge, "Though I suppose there _is_ always Photoshop to make it look bigger."

Luke said nothing, groaning in response as he felt his face flush in embarrassment.

* * *

 

Currently, Luke was covered in a layer of sweat, face-down on the bed, three pillows tucked under his belly to elevate his ass without him having to hold himself up on his knees.  He'd come three times already, with Michael's cum dripping down from his entrance down to his thighs from when the green eyed boy had fucked him to his second and third orgasms.  Luke growled as he felt Michael's hand trail over his spread, sore thighs.  The hand lifted, then fell on his ass with a heavy smack, making Luke yelp.

"Ten," Michael counted casually.  Ten spanks for touching himself without permission, five for talking back.  The ten was already  _unfuckingfair_ for the sole reason that Michael hadn't informed Luke that he wasn't supposed to touch _(though he had been instructed to keep his hands on the pillow his head was resting on)_ , but the extra five for voicing this opinion just pissed the younger boy off.

"You're such a fucking dick," Luke spat, red-faced as he clenched his fists into the sheets, "These last five are complete _bullshit!_ "

"Wanna make it _twenty_ , brat?" The redhead leaned down to speak threateningly in Luke's ear.  Luke moaned in answer, wriggling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the older boy like he was a fly on a deer's back.

"Nooo," he groaned, squirming frustratedly.  He gasped at the feeling of Michael's fingers traveling between his legs, nudging them further apart to expose even more of his skin.  Luke complied with the silent order, but not without complaint. " _Dooon't!_ " he whined unhappily, "I don't wanna!  No more!"

"You know the safeword," Michael said, cocking a pierced eyebrow.  It was more of a question, a precaution to make sure this hadn't gone too far for comfort, and that Luke wasn't so far gone he'd forgotten he could get out.

He halted his movements until Luke looked back at him over his shoulder and answered a quiet, "Yeah, I know...", his hands relaxing around the bedding a bit.

"I'll make you a deal," the older boy suggested then, getting back into the scene, taking a hold of Luke's bare hips, "Make yourself cum using just the pillows, like a fucking _dog_ , and you won't have to take the last five spankings."

Luke eyed him grumpily, eyebrows furrowed.  He sighed and went to work, half-heartedly rocking against the pillows piled underneath him, already hard but too exhausted to put forth the effort required of him.

"I can't, I'm too tired.  And that's your fault," Luke pouted, glaring at the headboard in front of him, "This isn't fair."  He slowed down until he came to a complete stop, resigned to get his ass smacked a few more times.  That was nice too, he supposed.

His eyes widened as Michael's thumbs pushed down into his lower back as he held onto his hips, guiding him forward.

"Don't worry, I'll help you," the redhead said smugly, setting the pace while he began to harden again himself.  Michael's half-interested length prodded at Luke's thigh, rubbing against it as Michael pushed Luke down into the pillows.  Luke moaned from deep within his throat, his cock dragging against the soft pillowcase while Michael began to grind against his backside, but not entering him.

Sweat beading on his forehead, Luke was at a loss for words, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the pillows that remained over his head.  He was close, and way too sensitive, whimpering and whining as he pushed his ass back against Michael while the redhead forced him forward.

"I, I, _uh-_ mmm, _ahh,_ " was all that came out of the blonde's mouth as he rolled his hips into the pillows urgently, coming for the fourth time with a long groan, his lower half stuttering to a halt.

"You're-- _ah_ \-- gonna, haveto, _nngh--_ buy me, new pillows," Michael panted as he finished himself off on Luke's collapsed form, adding to the mess on both the sheets and the body below him.

* * *

 

Luke's brain felt fuzzy.  He closed his eyes, erratic breaths becoming slow and even after finally being given a break.  He felt the mattress dip as Michael retreated, and then again as he returned with a cool, wet washcloth.  He gently cleaned the worst of the aftermath off of Luke's ass and thighs.  Luke remained pliant, content to allow Michael do all of the work.

"You did so well," Michael cooed, slowly running his fingers up Luke's spine, "Good boy."

"Mmmmm," Luke hummed, nearly purring at the praise, eyes still closed.  Michael used the clean side of the towel to dab at the back of Luke's neck, cooling him down, scratching at the younger boy's scalp lightly with his free hand.

"You wanna take a bath?  I've got bath bombs--I went to Lush the other day," Michael offered.  Luke's eyes flew open at the thought of Michael's luxurious bathtub, which was arguably the best part of the apartment.  It was one of those deep, hot tub style baths, and could comfortably seat five adults.  Michael's _shitty apartment_ was still a hellishly expensive _luxury apartment._  If Luke wanted to brag, his own bathtub was obviously still leagues above Michael's in terms of quality, but nonetheless, a bath sounded heavenly at the moment. 

"Together, right?" he asked, pushing himself up onto his hands while Michael threw the soiled pillows and washcloth into the far corner of the room.  Garbage.  Luke would order more online for him in the morning with one of the credit cards inside his bulging leather wallet.

"Obviously.  I'm not just gonna let you ruin my bedding _and_   give you my bath bombs as a reward," Michael teased, holding out a hand for Luke to take.

* * *

 

" _Ahhhh,_ " Michael sighed contentedly as Luke massaged shampoo through his hair.  The pair were basically sitting in each other's laps, face to face while they took turns shampooing each other's hair after they'd watched the bath bomb dissolve.  Michael closed his eyes and plugged his nose as he dipped himself backwards into the now-glittery purple water, coming back up with more or less shampoo-free hair.  He scooted forward, leaning his cheek against Luke's shoulder, his hands resting on either side of Luke's waist in an embrace.  Luke mirrored the motion, and the two sat quietly together in the warm chest deep water for a few moments.

"Why are we doing this?" Luke asked suddenly, because everything was going _too well_ and Luke needed to ruin anything that could be considered pleasant.  He'd started to feel anxious in the peacefulness of the bathroom, like something was about to go horribly wrong.  He supposed this conversation was it.

"Doing what?" the older boy mumbled.  He didn't bother to look up, dismissive of Luke's outburst.

" _This._  Taking a bath together, you actually being _nice_ to me," Luke hissed, splashing the water a bit for emphasis, "It's supposed to be sex, then I go home, or we go to sleep, and then I sneak out in the morning.  You _hate_ this _comforting_ part.  You're not even pouting that I've overstayed my welcome."

"You went through some heavy shit today, I'm just finishing picking up the pieces.  Otherwise I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you," Michael explained, "I'm not bothered."

Luke swallowed hard, which Michael undoubtedly felt.  He pulled himself closer to the shorter boy.

"I really am sorry," Luke started, "About everything I've ever done to you.  And I mean it, it wasn't just some drunken bullshit when I apologized before." Luke cleared his throat, then continued, "I hope you don't think I'm just trying to manipulate you into anything, I just... I wanted you to know, that I regret it."

"I forgive you," Michael replied simply.  Luke blinked, his hands curling into fists. 

"You...you _can't_ ," he said, his voice sounding strangled and small, "You _don't._ "

"I can, and I do."

"Why?  I don't deserve it.  I cheated on you.  More than once.  I ditched you to do fucking _drugs_ behind your back, I manipulated you into thinking I was the only one who'd ever want to be with you so you'd stay with me, I'm-- I'm _horrible._   Really.  And I'm not fishing for compliments here."

"Because you _need_ someone to forgive you," Michael said, "I've been thinking a lot lately.  Maybe if everyone stops _telling_ you that you're a piece of shit, you'll stop _seeing_ yourself as one.  It's like, a self-fulfilling prophecy.  If that's what you need, I can do that for you.  And I think you really _are_ sorry, as naive as that might be for me to believe."

"I _am._ "

"Alright, and I forgive you.  I'll give you another chance to show me you can be a good friend, okay?  You're not a lost evil soul."

Luke said nothing, blinking back tears.  He held Michael more tightly, his arms looping around the older boy's torso.  Michael returned the favor, linking his ankles together behind Luke's back.

"I love you," Luke blurted out.  Michael stiffened immediately, pulling back a bit.  Fuck.  Why did he just say that?  Why the _fuck_ did he just say that!?   _Fuckfuckfuckfuck!_  Luke dug his fingers into Michael's skin, trying to stop him from pulling away from the embrace, "No, wait, _no_ , please, I'm sorry--"

Michael licked his lips contemplatively, moving his hands to Luke's shoulders to push the younger boy back, looking him directly in the face.  Luke's expression withered under Michael's scrutiny, his face crumpling, cheeks growing hot with shame. 

"Luke," Michael said slowly, trying to look the blonde in the eye, though he was doing his best to avert his gaze, "That's not-- that's not what this _is._  We _both_ agreed that we weren't gonna--"

"I know," Luke cut him off quickly, voice wobbling dangerously, lunging forward to bury his face in the older boy's neck once more, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said it."

"That's okay..." Luke could hear the reluctance, almost skepticism, in Michael's voice.  He _fucked up._

"Honestly," Luke shook his head against Michael's skin, water droplets flying in every direction. "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.  I don't know what I was thinking, really."

"That's okay," Michael repeated, relaxing against the other boy as he seemed to accept Luke's words.  Then, with a sigh, "It's been a long day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh


	14. Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are my favorite "what if"  
> You are my best "I'll never know".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any necessary chapter-specific warnings. :')

_"No, stop!  Don't!  Stop it!!"_ Luke heard himself shriek as he fought against the hands trying to restrain his wrists.  Someone was shouting his name, telling him to _calm the fuck down._  He shoved forward blindly, as hard as he could, until he was propelled backwards off the mattress and onto the floor.  

The blonde landed on his hands and knees on the hard wood, breathing heavily as he took in his surroundings.  Bright sunlight flooded in through the window on the...on the _left_ side of the room? That's not where his window was supposed to be.  The floor was supposed to have carpeting.  His bedding was a pure and crisp white; he owned no red plaid comforter.  He was so fucking disoriented, had no clue _where_ he was, so naturally the next reasonable course of action would be to curl up into a ball and ignore the way his heart was trying to pound its way through his ribcage.  He struggled to breathe, the puffs of air coming out in sobs as the sheets still tangled around his legs felt like they were about to wrap around his throat to strangle him.

"I hate this, I fucking hate this," Luke gasped, rocking himself back and forth.  He heard a voice mumbling something, but it sounded far away, like he was underwater.  Suddenly, there was a terrifying cracking sound near his face, and his head snapped up towards the source of the noise. 

It was Michael, crouched a foot or two away from the younger boy, with his hands held out in front of him.

"Michael..?"

"Sorry for clapping so loud, I couldn't get your attention otherwise and I figured grabbing you would make it worse," Michael said, "What do you need?"

"I'm...at _your_ house," the blonde noted softly, "Not mine."

"Yeah, it looked like you were having a pretty intense dream so I tried to wake you up.  It didn't really work."

"Oh."  

Luke stared at his bare knees.  How embarrassing.  He was such a fucking mess lately.

"Here," Michael offered, reaching forward slowly to tug gently at the sleeve of Luke's sweat-soaked t-shirt, "Let's get this gross wet shirt off, you'll feel better."

"But I'm freezing," Luke countered, shivering in his baggy t-shirt and boxers.  He felt like he'd been dunked in an ice bath as the sweat started to evaporate from the chilly morning breeze rolling in through the open window.  The hottest part of summer was over, and it'd be autumn soon, he thought.

"I'll get you a new shirt.  And you can borrow some pants too, if you want," the redhead suggested, his fingers moving up Luke's arm to rest on his shoulder comfortingly.

* * *

"What were you dreaming about?" Michael asked, handing Luke a steaming mug of coffee as they settled in together on the sofa in the living room.  It was a bit early to be awake, but Luke refused to attempt to go back to sleep, so they decided they could get up and maybe have some breakfast. Coffee first, though.

"You can probably guess," Luke murmured, pulling the red plaid comforter around himself more tightly as he took the coffee from Michael.  At first, the nightmare started as a repeat of the previous day's events.  However, in _this_ version, his mother had never interrupted his father, which had taken him down a much darker path. "I don't really want to talk about it," he said, "I'll go home soon, so you can go back to sleep."

"You don't _have_ to go," Michael said, "If you don't feel safe there, I'm not gonna rush you out."

Luke shook his head, saying, "I have plans with Ashton later anyway; I should probably stop home and shower beforehand."

"Oh," the older boy replied, "Why do you wanna see _him?_  He's kind of a huge dick."

" _You're_ friends with him too," Luke deflected.

"Honestly, only because of Calum.  Whenever Calum makes me hang out with him outside of the studio, he says some pretty cringey things.  But Calum invited _me_ into _their_ partnership, so I don't really have room to talk," Michael explained, "But you..?  Why do _you_ put up with it?"

"He's my best friend," Luke shrugged, "He cares about me, even if sometimes he's a little... standoffish.  No one else has been willing to put up with as much as he has for me."

"Hm," Michael hummed noncommittally, tapping on the ceramic mug, staring into the dark liquid.

"How have you been?" Luke asked suddenly, not wanting to stew in his own misery anymore, "And where has your mom been?  You've barely mentioned her."

"I dunno," Michael sighed, "A few months ago, I found out she moved to New York with her new boyfriend."

" _'Found out'?_  What's that mean?" Luke scoffed. 

"Well," Michael started, swallowing a sip of his drink, "I called her, just 'cause, and the line was disconnected.  So I went to her apartment, and the _new fucking tenants_ filled me in.  I finally got ahold of her, and basically got told that she'd prefer to forget about her old life, that I remind her of too many painful memories, so please _don't_ call again."

"Fuck, Mikey," the taller boy breathed, his gut churning, "That.... sucks fucking ass."

"Yeah.  I'll be fine, though.  Not the first time a parent didn't want me, right?"

"I shouldn't have said that shit about your dad, before," Luke admitted quickly, "I...don't know what to say."

"We both won the shitty parent lottery, don't worry about it," the redhead joked with a sigh, setting down his empty coffee mug.  Luke fiddled with his lipring between his teeth, picking at the hem of his borrowed sweatshirt uncomfortably.

"...So, breakfast?" Luke suggested, breaking through the brewing awkward silence.

* * *

After finishing the breakfast of pancakes and bacon that Michael had prepared, and after the two boys were done laughing hysterically at the one undercooked pancake that had ended up sticking itself to the ceiling as Michael decided to mimic a master chef while flipping it in the pan, they settled back into bed, their stomachs full and eyes drooping.  It was still early, and their rude awakening was beginning to catch up with them, the digital alarm clock reading only 10:47 AM; more than enough time to lay around before the shindig with Ashton that Luke had ended up inviting Michael to.

Michael grabbed the remote from the nightstand by his side, lazily clicking the television on onto some shitty made-for-TV movie.  Luke curled into the older boy's side, aimlessly trailing his fingers over Michael's ribs. 

"I've co-starred with her before," Luke said idly, referring to the blonde teenage actress rushing across the screen, "Dunno why she's in this movie; she's actually _good._ "

Michael hummed pleasantly in response, the arm draped around Luke's shoulders moving down to scratch his back.

"I'm tired," Luke said, after stifling a yawn.

"Then go to sleep," the redhead offered.  Luke shook his head. "Why not?  Are you afraid?"

" _No,_ " the younger boy snapped, "Of course not, I know dreams can't _really_ hurt me, _obviously."_

"Sure," Michael replied, shrugging a shoulder, "I'm just saying, if you wanted to go to sleep, I'll be _right here_."

"...Thanks," the blonde said instead when the urge to say _'I love you'_ struck him once more.

* * *

"Hey, you brought Michael!  Always nice to see you guys getting along," Ashton greeted from behind Bryana, who had been situated on the brunette's lap.  Their relationship was _on_ again, it seemed.  He gently ushered her off so he could stand, giving her lovey-dovey googly eyes before putting an arm around Luke's shoulders, leading him away from the small group.  They stood a small distance away from the others for a more private conversation, Ashton stopping to run a hand through his wavy hair. "Listen, Luke, I'm _super_ sorry I didn't answer the phone last night!  I was out, my phone was _totally_ dead, and by the time I looked at it, Calum was telling me that he already talked to you and I shouldn't worry about it.  Everything good?"

Ashton's lie was smooth, so effortless that Luke almost believed it himself. 

"Yeah, I mean, there was just some shit going on with my parents, but I don't wanna _bore_ you with my _complaining_ ," Luke replied half-sarcastically.  Ashton didn't pick up on the jab, nodding understandingly at his words. "But, ah, then Michael picked me up and we went to McDonalds and hung out.  It turned out alright."

" _McDonalds?_  Yikes," The hazel-eyed boy sucked air through his teeth, giving Luke a nearly-unperceivable judgmental _'up-and-down'_ glance that made the younger boy want to drop to the floor and shatter into a bazillion pieces. "That's cool, though, I saw those fans' selfies on Twitter."

"Yeah," Luke said shortly, crossing his arms over his chest, now feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious.

"So," Ashton said, finally sensing he needed to act supportive, "Your parents, huh?  Your dad...?  Are you okay?"

"I suppose," Luke sighed, taking in a shaky breath, "There's been worse.  Thanks for caring.  I'm fucking anxious about going back home, though, I've been at Mikey's since he picked me up last night."

"Ha, _'Mikey'_ , cute," Ashton giggled at the nickname, then winked at Luke conspiratorially, "You know, I can't fix your parental problems, but I think I've got _just the thing_ to make you feel _better_ about it."

"I'm sure you do, Ash," Luke replied with a weak smile, "You always do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for the kudos/comments/bookmarks/shares on other websites, i really do appreciate it!


	15. Glory Fades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon arrival the guests had all stared;  
> dripping wet and clearly depressed,  
> he'd headed straight for the stairs.  
> No longer cool, but a boy in a stitch-  
> unprepared for a life full of lies and failing relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: drug use.  
> That's all, I think!

* * *

Luke allowed Ashton to lead him into his room, catching a glimpse of Michael standing next to Calum and Bryana on the way.  Michael glanced up at him, his eyebrows shooting up questioningly, but Luke quickly looked away, not wanting to meet the other boy's eyes.  A strange sense of guilt came over him and he swallowed thickly, gluing his eyes to the floor until he heard Ashton's bedroom door click behind him. 

He emerged from the room a new man with a bright future ahead of him.  The blonde was invincible, he was Luke fucking Hemmings, the incredibly talented and successful actor and model.   _All thanks to your friendly neighborhood cocaine dealer._

The pair met up with the three other members of their party in the living room, where they were waiting to leave for an exclusive nightclub, with Ashton and Luke acting as the others' keys to get inside.  Luke hovered around the couch where Michael was seated, tapping his foot on the floor mindlessly.  Michael stared at the floor.

"Let's go," Ashton said, tossing Luke's denim jacket at the blonde's chest.  

* * *

Luke had tried to fiddle with Michael's hand during the car ride to the club under the camouflage of the darkened sky, but Michael had slipped his hand out of the other's reach and gave Luke a cross look.  The blue eyed boy wasn't discouraged though, standing next to the older boy at the bar, the bass of the music vibrating through their bodies.

"I wanna dance," Luke said excitedly, wiping the tip of his nose with the back of a hand, "Michael, you wanna?"

Michael said nothing, the screen of his phone apparently more interesting than Luke, or the rest of his surroundings.  Displeased by this lack of acknowledgment, the blonde put a hand over Michael's phone, pushing it down so the older boy would be forced to look at him.

"C'mon, Mikey, dance with me," he suggested again, with a thin smile.  His body was thrumming with energy and power, he needed to fucking move.

"I don't even want to _talk_ to you right now, so just leave me alone," Michael snapped, snatching his phone back from Luke's grip.

"What?  Why not?" Luke asked, taken aback by the bluntness of his response.

"You're high, and you _know_ how I feel about that!" 

"I'm...I'm still the same, Mikey, just, happier.  I'm better.  I don't have to be a stupid depressed little bitch, I can be _good_ ," Luke defended.

"It's fake, and it's disturbing.  You're like a clown with a painted on smile, and if you'd told me you were going to do this shit I would have just stayed home," Michael said angrily.

"You just don't like it when I'm actually _happy_ ," Luke hissed, "You just want me to be miserable so I have to depend on you."

"Stop projecting your own actions onto me, that's not what I'm doing at all," Michael sighed exhaustedly and folded his arms across his chest, "Look, I know you have a problem and you need help getting through it, but--"

"I don't have a problem!" Luke snarled, his voice rising in pitch and volume.  He suddenly had the urge to throw his half-full drink to the floor and watch the glass shatter.  His hand twitched, remaining at his side.

"Oh, right, sorry, I forgot you only _have a problem_ and _can't help it_ when you do something _you_ regret."

 "God, why are you-- you're-- you're being so," the blonde choked out, finding it hard to breathe through his rising distress.  He clutched the front of his own shirt, "I'm fucking _sorry_ , alright?  I'm being pulled in a million different directions, and I just wanted-- _needed_ \-- I don't know, I'm a fucking idiot as usual.  Please don't be mad at me right now, I feel like I'm about to have a fucking heart attack, or throw a chair, or puke, or something."

Michael was looking at him with an expression somewhere between reluctance and concern.  He seemingly forced himself to dismiss the argument for the sake of his friend.  Luke ran a shaky hand through his honey blonde hair, finding it damp.  He didn't realize he'd been sweating.

"We can talk about it later, I guess.  Maybe you should sit down," the redhead suggested, eyeing Luke's tense body language, "Or we can go outside and get some air."

"No," the younger boy said, taking a few labored breaths in an attempt to curb his feelings of anxiety.  He chugged his drink, grimacing at the heavy flavor of alcohol, "I'm good, I'm good, I need to _move_.  I'm gonna go dance."

"Let me know if you need anything," Michael offered neutrally, still watching the other boy's jerky movements as he walked over to the end of the bar where Calum was sitting, pulling out a stool next to the brunette.

* * *

The euphoria returned in full force after Luke confidently made his way to the dancefloor.  He nodded over at Ashton, who waved at him enthusiastically as he bumped hips with Bryana.

Luke quickly found a companion himself, grinding with a pretty brunette girl-- at least, from what he could tell in the darkness of the club.  Eventually, a song ended, leaving the two to catch their breaths for a second, when the girl turned around, finally facing her dance partner.  He instantly recognized her as someone he'd met at Ashton's party.  He'd been having drinks with her before Michael had led him away.

"Oh my god, you're Luke Hemmings!" she exclaimed, brown eyes wide, gathering her long hair in both hands and quickly putting it in a thick messy ponytail, up and out of the way.

"We've met before, at Ashton Irwin's house," Luke noted, not actually remembering her name.  He didn't really care to ask, if he was being honest, but he felt like he was happy to see her nonetheless.

"You're famous," she said with an almost shy smile upon her full lips, "You shouldn't remember me."

Luke grinned broadly.   _It's true,_ he thought, _I am far more important than most people here._

"Wanna grab a drink?  I'm paying, obviously," he offered, gesturing towards the bar; the opposite end of where Michael and Calum were conversing with a group of people Luke didn't recognize.

* * *

"Hold on, I gotta get this on Snapchat this time," she joked, placing her flat palm on Luke's chest flirtily, leaning in with her phone to take a selfie.  She stuck out her tongue as Luke scrunched up his nose and did the same. "My friends thought I was making shit up before," she explained,  "They barely believed I made it _in_ to Ashton Irwin's party, much less _hung out_ with _Luke Hemmings_."

"Well, now you have the proof.  I'll even follow you on Twitter for good measure," the teen laughed, turning towards the bartender and waving him over before briefly glancing back over his shoulder at her, "You like shots, yeah?"  

She nodded in the affirmative, waiting until Luke turned back around with the two glasses, handing her one.  The brunette made to drink it, but Luke stopped her, first looping his arm through her's, linking the pair by the elbows, before nodding with a wink.  They took the shots with their arms linked, the motion pulling them closer together, their knees bumping together as they sat on the barstools.

"So," the girl said, clearing her throat and leaning in even closer to Luke, looking up at him through her dark eyelashes, deciding to get straight to the point, "Did you want to do anything _besides_ dance...?  Sorry if that's too forward of me, but I just _had_ to ask, it's not every day that I get a chance to hook up with _the_ hottest celebrity."

Luke found himself leading her by the hand to the nearest bathroom, his inflated ego calling the shots for him.

* * *

The brunette raked her painted fingernails down Luke's biceps as they made out, after Luke had propped the girl up on the counter, paying the bathroom attendant a one-hundred dollar bill to stand outside and block the door for privacy.

Luke was feeling a bit uneasy now, and had been as soon as he heard the lock of the door clicking behind him.  He didn't know where this vague feeling of discomfort was coming from, but he chose to ignore it in favor of all the good vibes still flooding through him.  He'd be coming down from his high soon, and he thought he should make the most of it while it lasted.  The nineteen year old felt like he'd enjoy it more if it were Michael in here with him, however.

" _Luke_ ," the girl panted as they retracted their tongues from exploring the other's mouths, finally coming up for air.  She reached forward to unbuckle his belt, sliding a hand down the front of his pants as the other toyed with one of his belt loops.  And...nothing happened.  She glanced up at him questioningly, and he flushed, embarrassed, but not in the way he liked.  His body wasn't responding to the touch, at least not positively.  A wave of nausea hit him suddenly.  This was off.  This wasn't Michael.  He didn't even know her fucking _name_.  He felt guilty, and he felt used at the same time.  He pushed her hands away, stumbling backwards as saliva filled his mouth.  She stared at him, confused, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Luke said, voice cracking, willing himself not to be sick.  He continued to retreat, stopping when his back hit the stall door behind him, "I'm fine," he reiterated, though his strangled voice spoke volumes.

"What, are you gay or something?" she scoffed incredulously, righting her wrinkled cropped t-shirt and pulling her skirt back down to an acceptable length after hopping off the counter, "'Cause I _know_ I'm not ugly."

"No," he said quickly, "I, just-- there's-- someone else.  I can't."

"Is it Michael Clifford?  You came here with him, right?" Luke shook his head urgently at that, and she gasped, things clicking into place, "You two are _fucking_ , and that's why you keep being seen together.  This is too fucking funny!"

"No," Luke insisted, lurching forward, his heart hammering in his chest, "Just-- shut up, shut the fuck up!  I'm just not interested in fucking you!"

The sandy-haired boy watched as the girl rolled her eyes, tossing her phone into her purse laid out near the sink, slinging it over her shoulder.  

"Whatever," she said, not bothering to look at him as she brushed past, unlocking the door and letting herself out, "It didn't feel like you had much of anything to please a girl with, anyway."

Luke kept his eyes fixed on the tiled bathroom floor, face burning.  He was in too fucking deep with this whole love thing, now.

* * *

"Hey Luke, where ya goin'?" Ashton shouted, struggling to be heard over the loud music.  

Luke stormed past, not stopping until he was outside of the club's back entrance, a way for celebrities to escape without having to deal with the fans and paparazzi lurking outside.  He rounded a corner, finding himself in an alleyway.  The blonde tugged a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, searching himself for a lighter.  Growling in frustration at the fact that he couldn't find one, he stomped his foot, feeling like he could start breathing fire at any second.  Tonight was _not_ his night, and he was even developing a horrible headache and stuffy nose as he began to come down from his high to further prove it.

"Uh, need a light...?" A voice said. Luke's glare traveled from the pavement, to the tips of a pair of black combat boots, up the long, denim-clad legs, past the army green jacket, up to Michael's stupid fucking _beautiful_ face.  Michael was holding out his lighter for Luke to take, and he all but ripped it out of the older boy's hands.  He took two long, shaky drags of the cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly, focusing on how it looked floating in front of him. "Er, you good, babe?"

"Don't call me that, I fucking _hate_ you," the taller boy hissed.  How fucking _dare_ Michael use pet names when all he wanted from Luke was a place to put his dick?  

"Okay...why...?" Michael asked, tilting his head in an attempt to meet Luke's eyes, but the younger boy avoided the contact, glowering at the concrete below their shoes.

"You piss me off," Luke grumbled, flicking the ashes from the tip of the cigarette.

"As always," Michael replied coolly, "Is this you needing cuddles, or you needing space?"

"This is me needing _you_ ," is what Luke wanted to say, felt it rising in the back of his throat like bile.

"Dunno," he answered instead, swallowing past the lump in his throat.  Luke stared up at the night sky, blowing smoke towards the nearly-full moon. "I just wish...nevermind."

"No, what?" the redhead asked curiously.

"I just...wish things were different," Luke said finally.

"It is what it is," Michael shrugged.

* * *

 

"Mmm," Michael hummed, straddling the boy on the bed underneath him.  

The pair had decided to call it a night shortly after their exchange outdoors, Luke complaining about his growing headache; however, he wasn't about to let that stop him yet.

Luke was shirtless, wearing nothing but his boxers as Michael marked up his throat with lips and teeth.  

" _Mine_ ," the older boy purred, "I just wish everyone could know that you're such a dirty fucking slut for _me_."

 _He doesn't love you_ , the voice in the back of Luke's head said cruelly, _this means nothing to him, you mean nothing._

* * *

"I don't get it," Michael said, kneeling next to Luke, who was lying on his belly on the mattress, as he spoke to the back of the boy's sandy blonde hair, "Did I do something wrong?  You totally lost interest before it even started.  It was like your mind was someplace else."

"I just don't feel well," Luke said quietly, trying not to feel Michael's soothing fingers massaging his too-tense shoulders, working knots out of his muscles with thumbs and knuckles. "I'm sorry I killed the mood."

"I mean, if you're not into it, I don't wanna do it either," Michael said, "I'm just worried about you."

Luke didn't reply, feeling Michael's hands trail down his back and land on his semi-clothed ass, kneading it gently.

"Does the baby want a little booty massage?" he asked in a childish voice, clearly trying to lighten the mood.  Luke let out a deep sigh, burying his face in the pillow instead of dignifying Michael with a response.  That would have been so fucking _cute_ , he thought, if he wasn't so fucking _miserable_.


	16. Millstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used to pray like God was listening.  
> I used to make my parents proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: emotional abuse

"Isn't that the girl you were talking to last night?" Michael asked, gesturing to the side by side comparison of two tweets on his phone screen, uploaded by a Luke Hemmings fan account.  The first was the Snapchat selfie of the brunette and Luke, with the caption, _"Bae!!"_ accompanied by a heart eyes emoji.  The second was a tweet from the girl's Twitter account, which read _"when ur about to fuck a dude but he cant get his microscopic dick up cause he's too in love with a 2006 pete wentz wannabe yikes..."_

Luke stared at the post, snatching Michael's phone out of his hands so he could inspect it more closely, feeling like his blood was turning into ice water. 

"She's-- lying," he choked out, sick to his stomach.  It was too early for this bullshit.  He scrolled through Michael's Twitter feed, finding the more cryptic tweet to be today's hot topic of discussion.  Luke's head snapped up to stare at Michael's grimacing face, his cheeks hot. "She's _lying_ ," he repeated, desperately.

"It's okay, Luke," Michael said softly, "They all think she's making it up, anyway.  Just a fan who got a selfie with you and made up some crazy rumor afterwards."

"I'm not-- she _did_ make it up!" Luke said urgently, "We barely even _talked_ to each other!  She's a fucking bitch!"

"You're a terrible actor when you're not on set, you know that, right?" Michael pointed out, "It'll be fine.  It's just gossip.  You don't need to justify yourself to me."

Luke didn't respond, instead tossing the sheets off of himself and getting out of bed, beginning to dress himself.

"I'm gonna go home," he said finally, hopping as he tugged his black jeans up his legs, "We gotta...I dunno.  I can't have my parents suspecting this type of shit."

"Sure," Michael agreed, "Probably doesn't help that I'm openly bi."

"It's not your fault," Luke replied, "I didn't even think about it.  I'm too used to being paired off in the media with random women, never happened with a man."

"It'll blow over," Michael said as Luke neared the door frame, fully dressed, "In the meantime, good luck dealing with the demons possessing your parents' bodies."

"Thanks," Luke scoffed.

* * *

"Oh, good morning!  You're finally home!  Come give your mother a hug, baby, I've missed your handsome face," Luke's mother greeted upon noticing her son approaching the breakfast table with a steaming mug of coffee and a plate containing two slices of avocado-smeared toast.  

The teen leaned down to allow his mother to hug him, trying not to let his breakfast slide off his plate while doing so.  The woman then squished the sides of Luke's face between her hands, planting a motherly kiss on his forehead that made the younger boy scrunch up his nose in faux-disgust.  

"Hi Mom," he said, smiling, shuffling around to the other side of the table to sit down.  

"You can't just go running off like that for days on end, Lukey, you had me worried sick!" she exclaimed, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her morning cup of tea.

"I'm sure," Luke replied skeptically, envisioning his phone's inbox, which contained exactly zero phone calls and zero texts from his mother since he'd slipped out of the house two nights before.  He hadn't said where he'd been going that night, and she hadn't cared to ask.

"I'm serious, baby, I really worry about you when you're not home with mommy," she insisted _(a lie, Luke thought),_ "In fact...have you been on Twitter today?"

God _damn_ his mother's obsession with social media.  He was just going to throw her phone into the fucking pool one day soon.

"Let's not go there," Luke suggested with a thin-lipped smile.  It was breakfast, for fuck's sake, couldn't this wildly uncomfortable discussion wait?

"Okay, then.  Just, be more careful who you trust with that kind of thing," the woman said quietly, returning to her breakfast with knife and fork in hand.  Luke stared at her, his stomach doing a flip.

"That bitch was lying about the whole thing, obviously," Luke said, leaning in across the table so he could speak at a lower volume.

"Sure honey, that's what I told your father," she agreed casually, in between bites of her salmon and spinach breakfast.  Luke grit his teeth.

"Mom, I'm not fucking _gay_ ," he hissed, growing frustrated, "It was just a stupid fucking rumor, and I want you to _drop it_."

"Fine.  You look like a homeless junkie, are you taking care of yourself?" his mother asked flatly instead, not bothering to make eye contact, immediately changing the subject to something equally unpleasant, "I don't want you collapsing on-set or bailing out of your responsibilities."

" _Fuck,_ Mom!" the blonde whined, "It's ten in the _fucking morning!_ "

"Have you been eating well?  You're very pale, you have bags under your eyes," she rephrased, as if it would make her sound less offensive.

"You're trying to make me lose, like, a million fucking pounds, so no, of course I'm not fucking _eating well!_ " Luke snapped.

"I'm not _making_ you do anything, dear," she said, rolling her eyes, "All I said was, I wanted you to consider your career the next time you're about to stuff your face with junk.  Don't come crying to me when you lose your Calvin Klein sponsorship, and Saint Laurent stops sending you freebies, all because _you_ can't be professional about your appearance."

The blue-eyed boy stared at the tabletop, not knowing what to say.  Luke felt hot, embarrassed, _sad_.  He didn't want breakfast anymore, he decided.  He didn't know _what_ to do to fix himself.  He crossed his arms over his chest, pursing his lips.

"I hate you," he offered finally, "You're so fucking _mean_."

"I know you don't mean that, baby.  I'm only trying to help you.  You're always taking things too hard, blowing things out of proportion," she said, reaching over the table to ruffle Luke's hair.  The boy relaxed a little under his mother's now-gentle voice and touch, wondering if she was right.  He _had_ blown up at her, surely she hadn't _meant_ to be unnecessarily cruel-- this was _Mom_ , after all.  Then, "I swear, you're just like your father."

Luke tensed visibly at her words, his mouth agape.  He slid his chair out, ducking away from her fingers, wordlessly gathering his dishes and kicking the seat back into place.

"Honey, that wasn't an insult, I love your father, you know that!" she amended, craning her neck to watch her son stomp around her, back towards the kitchen counter. "Where are you going?"

"To blow my fucking brains out," he muttered, tossing his still-full plate and mug into the sink before disappearing down the hallway.

* * *

Ashton lounged on a pool chair on the Hemmings' patio, sunglasses obscuring his eyes, his hand resting on Bryana's bare thigh, who was tanning in the seat next to him.  Luke was rehashing the morning's events to his best friend from the edge of the pool, ashing a cigarette onto the concrete after every few drags.  He was on his fourth cigarette in the past thirty minutes.  In the background, Michael and Calum were screaming wildly and hurling a giant inflatable ball at each other's faces, some of the water splashing over Luke's hair.

"That's bullshit, honestly, Luke, you're nothing like your major fucking asshole of a dad," Ashton said, sitting up in his chair and raising his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head, "Your mom literally walked in on us doing rails of coke off your brand spankin' new living room coffee table the other day, she can't just fucking pretend like she's insulting you to _protect your wellbeing_ or some shit.  She doesn't give a fuck about you."

"That's what I'm saying," Luke agreed.  He suddenly noticed an ominous shadow behind him before a large mass grabbed his arms, pulling him backwards into the pool with a splash.  Instinctually, he took a breath and closed his mouth instead of screaming, opening his eyes under the water to see Michael grinning at him evilly.  They came up at the same time, Luke breaking through the surface with a gasp, shoving Michael backwards. "Fuck-- Fucking asshole!  I'm trying to have a conversation here!" he shouted, tossing his ruined cigarette onto the patio deck.  Michael guffawed, finding himself hilarious, throwing his head back as he laughed.  Luke hid a smile, reluctantly finding him endearing.

"Sounds to me like your parents see you more as a cash cow than their own son.  I'm sorry, man," Calum chimed in sincerely.  Then, with a slow grin and a wink, "Shame that your mom's a bitch though, she's kinda hot."

The group groaned collectively, Bryana grabbing a demolished slice of watermelon from the table between her and Ashton, chucking it at the brown-eyed boy.

* * *

**hemmings:** whats up ?

**Michael Clifford:** im in the studio!! making music!! :D

**hemmings:** when r u done ?

**Michael Clifford:** not til late... :(

**hemmings:** :( have fun

* * *

**Michael Clifford:** wyd?

**hemmings:** dinner with. my parents

**Michael Clifford:** ouch. when will the chains be broken lmao?

**hemmings:** i have to go to some fundraising gala afterwards so ,idk

**Michael Clifford:** ugh dammit

* * *

**hemmings:** your gonna tell me your busy so i dont know why im bothering to text haha

**Michael Clifford:** you're* right :( sorry

**hemmings:** r U with ashton and calum ?

**Michael Clifford:** yeah, finishing some tunes

**hemmings:** this fucking sucks

* * *

**Michael Clifford** : why are we so fucking busy

**hemmings** : idk this is getting fucking stupid , what r U doing tonight ?

**Michael Clifford** : flying out to NY for jimmy fallon...

**hemmings** : fuck i forgot ashton already said tht

**Michael Clifford** : what about saturday?

**hemmings** : movie premiere........

**Michael Clifford** : gay

* * *

**hemmings** : im horny :(

**Michael Clifford** : hi horny im michael :)

**hemmings** : ok fuck off than

**Michael Clifford** : bro you type like a fucking 8 year old

**hemmings** : shut the hell off

> up* FUCK
> 
> fuck you

* * *

**Michael Clifford** : ok my schedule is free on thursday even though im SURE you're busy

**hemmings** : wow

> im actually not busy
> 
> im free thursday-saturday ! ! !

**Michael Clifford** : OMG

> ITS BEEN LIKE 3 WEEKS
> 
> FINALLY
> 
> CLEAN YOUR ASSHOLE
> 
> POLISH YOUR BALLS
> 
> PREPARE YOUR LIL SMOKIE

**hemmings** : nevermind i just remembered i never want to talk to U again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update, i'm in the middle of finals!  
> hopefully the texting segment came across okay, it was meant to show them texting each other on different days but the other is always busy...  
> also thanks for the feedback, i appreciate all the comments/kudos/bookmarks/etc!!


	17. Turn tin to gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is this thing laced with?  
> Please don’t replace me,  
> I surrender, embrace me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: smut and discussion of drug abuse.

Luke nuzzled his face into Michael's neck, and he could swear he just felt Michael purposely breathing in the scent of his Versace cologne.  He hoped Michael couldn't smell the alcohol from his brunchtime Bloody Mary on his breath.

"I can't believe it's been three fucking weeks," Michael said as he pulled away, his hand brushing against Luke's a little too deliberately, "I can't believe-- I never thought I'd say this, but, I've actually missed you."

Luke quickly glanced away, attempting to stifle a grin that would undoubtedly reveal how elated he was that Michael wanted to see him.

"How are you?" Luke asked, after a beat, "How has busy celebrity life been?"

"Really good, actually," Michael answered excitedly, which gave Luke the sudden urge to pinch the older boy's cheek, "We only released the one track so far, and it's just-- so cool!  I've never gained so many followers on Twitter at one time and my iTunes sales on my older music are picking back up again; I really underestimated the fanbase powerhouse that is Ashton Irwin," he laughed, "He's actually been great."

" _Ashton isn't so fucking special,_ " Luke wanted to say, feeling a pang in his chest.  Michael was going to end up liking Ashton's company better than Luke's own, he knew, and Luke was powerless to stop it.

"That's great, Mikey," the blond said instead, a weak smile briefly flashing across his face.  Michael quirked an eyebrow questioningly at him, likely hearing the sudden change in tone.  Luke cleared his throat, finally meeting Michael's eyes once more, "Just, uh, don't let him share his coke with you, when he offers, yeah?" he said, reaching up a hand to ruffle through the shorter boy's freshly-dyed black hair.

Michael didn't laugh at Luke's unfunny remark, his green eyes softening a bit as they traveled over the younger boy's form.

"Have you been alright?" he asked quietly, "I don't want to say-- I, uh-- I think you've lost more weight.  You look exhausted.  I'm sorry, you just don't look-- healthy."

"Like I said, don't share with Ashton," Luke replied shortly, whipping out his phone as he spoke, "I'll call the hotel and make sure our reservations are ready."

"Reservations?  As in, plural?"

"I booked two rooms.  We aren't sharing a room on the records, that'd be _weird_ ," Luke explained, holding the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, sure, two guys alone on a weekend trip to the beach in the first place is _totally_ the straightest thing that's ever been recorded," Michael scoffed, earning a shush from the blonde boy.

"It's a private beach, I know plenty of men who go there to discreetly cheat on their wives, don't worry about it," Luke said, waving him away like a fruitfly.

* * *

"This is shit," Luke remarked, peering through the slats of the blinds covering the sliding balcony door.  He frowned at the gloomy sky, raindrops already tapping against the glass.  Grey clouds hovered over the ocean, the beach all but deserted after the change in weather.  Thunderstorms were on their way.

"There was always a chance of rain for today; tomorrow's still supposed to be really nice," Michael replied, pausing their game of Grand Theft Auto after Luke had gotten frustrated upon hearing the rumble of thunder in the distance.  Luke didn't answer, continuing to pout at the sight of the abandoned beach.  Michael set his controller down on the table in front of him, standing up to walk behind Luke, resting his chin on the taller boy's shoulder. "There's an indoor pool here, wanna go swimming?" he tried, "We can blow up Obi Swan Kenobi and scare away the rest of the resort guests."

"It's gonna be too busy.  And, there are swimming pools all over the place," Luke grumbled, "This was supposed to be special.  I don't wanna waste our time playing a fucking video game, no offense."

"Hey," Michael purred, taking Luke's chin in hand, forcing the younger boy to pay more attention to him, "You wanna play a different game then?"

* * *

"Green light," Michael said.  Per the rules of the game, Luke lifted his hand from where it rested on his naked abdomen, taking his own cock in hand and stroking it slowly, already hard.  The older boy casually sat cross-legged in between Luke's spread legs, still fully clothed.  Luke had been ordered to strip, leaving him exposed under Michael's scrutinizing gaze.  

"At least-- take off your shirt," Luke suggested between grunts as he tugged at his length, "I'm starting to feel-- _mmm_ , self-conscious."  The black haired boy ignored him, reaching out and grasping Luke's wrist to stop his movements.

"Red light," Michael replied, pulling Luke's hand away from his dick and leaning forward to hold it flat against the blonde's chest.  

Luke scowled at him, lifting his hips and trying to at least rub the tip against Michael's torso above him.  Michael noticed immediately, jabbing Luke harshly in the side with his free hand.

"Oww!" the younger boy yelped, body jolting against the mattress. Michael's hand stayed where it was, and he moved as if he were going to do it again, before Luke wriggled unhappily, trying to roll away.  Luke covered Michael's hand with his own, trying to bat it away. "Stopstopstop!   _Don't_ , I fucking hate that!"

"Don't be a fucking brat, then," Michael answered simply, running his fingers over Luke's side soothingly before gently interlacing his fingers with the other boy's.  "Understand the rules?" he asked softly, leaning in further to hover directly over Luke's face, his head resting on the pillows behind him.  Luke nodded slowly, his blue eyes locking with Michael's.  The older boy shifted, folding his legs underneath him, and took his hand off Luke's chest.  "Good.  Green light."

* * *

"Red light!" Michael called out.  Luke was a squirming mess; he had desperately tried to move fast enough to finish himself off before Michael stopped him again, but of course Michael could tell how close he was.  At least the black haired boy had finally undressed a little, sliding his flannel off his shoulders when the sight of Luke writhing in front of him had started to become too much.  His belt was removed and his jeans were unfastened to allow him access to grope himself while still calling the shots.  Luke slammed his head back into the pillows, letting out a frustrated whine.  One hand was still tightly gripping Michael's, the other flying to clutch the sheets as Luke restrained himself from continuing to touch.  His cock was red and leaking, and Michael kept generously dripping lube over it so Luke wouldn't have the excuse of painful chafing to make the game stop.

"Michael..." the blonde groaned, eyes squeezed shut as he focused on keeping himself still.  There were no further orders, which confused him a bit, but gave him time to catch his breath.  He heard shifting in front of him, and he cracked one eye open to see Michael tossing his pants over the side of the bed, leaving him in a pair of boxers, pulled down enough to reveal his cock.  Luke could tell that Michael was about to come from the way his brows furrowed in concentration and the way he was biting his lower lip, jerking himself off with a purpose.  It was a relief, a possible signal that Luke, too, would be allowed to come soon.

"Should I come on your face?  Do you deserve that?" Michael panted.  Luke groaned, the mere suggestion making him impossibly harder.  His hips bucked involuntarily, needing something.  "You're disgusting, you're a fucking slut," Michael scoffed before his eyes screwed shut, biting down hard on his lip as he clutched Luke's hand, painting lines of white on the younger boy's torso when he came, moaning.

Michael's hips stuttered to a halt and he rested for a moment, using Luke's hip to brace himself as he took several shaking breaths.  Luke made a strangled sound and squeezed Michael's fingers harshly, unable to fully articulate that he was being ignored and he was not happy.

"Red light," the older boy said after collecting himself, looking Luke in the eyes.  Luke's brain malfunctioned, too relieved at receiving another order that he hadn't even paid attention to the fact that it was the _wrong_ order, and he wrapped his hand around his cock enthusiastically, pumping himself quickly.  He moaned, arching up off the bed.

"Hey, stop, I said!" Michael shouted, smacking Luke's inner thigh in an attempt to get the younger boy's attention, "Red light, red light, red light!"

Luke felt like he suddenly returned to his own body at warp speed, at last hearing Michael's words pierce through his racing heartbeat and the sounds coming out of his own mouth.  He was too far gone, the feeling of his own hand and the smacks on his thigh and the hot stickiness on his belly paired with the sight of Michael above him proved to be too much, and he couldn't force himself to stop in time before he was coming hard all over himself.

Luke shut his eyes tightly, gasping for air.  Michael gently pried their hands apart, untangling their joined fingers.  He felt shitty for coming without permission and ending Michael's fun, afraid to open his eyes and see Michael's stern expression.  Instead, he felt Michael's fingers pushing his hair out of his face and booping his nose softly.

"You're so fucking pretty when you come," Michael cooed, leaning down to kiss Luke's swollen lips.

"I fucked up," Luke choked out when Michael sat back, still refusing to look at the older boy.

"It was just a game," Michael reassured him, "I had fun."

"I ruined it," Luke said, frustrated tears leaking from his eyes. "I was being selfish," he added, voice wobbly.

"Aw, no, Luke, it's okay," Michael said, wiping the younger boy's tears away with his thumbs, "You did really good.  We can go take a bath, and then we can go snuggle up in the bed in your room, where the sheets aren't all disgusting, and I can, like, rub your back and feed you soup or whatever while we watch Spongebob.  Sound good?"

"Mmhmm," Luke sobbed, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands as Michael cupped the sides of his face, "I'm so fucking embarrassing.  I make a big fucking deal out of everything, it was just a stupid game."

"I'm sure there's more to it besides just losing a game," Michael countered, "We can talk about it later, if you want."

"Nono, there's nothing, I'm okay," Luke mumbled, swiping his fingers across his splotchy face.  He didn't want to bore the other boy with his stream of neverending problems.

* * *

"I think maybe we shouldn't fuck around anymore," Michael sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter as he watched Luke empty a mug of coffee at midnight.  He stared down at his fuzzy-socked feet, not wanting to see Luke's reaction.

Luke froze, swallowing audibly.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly, clutching the mug defensively.

"It seems like it's getting really... _intense_ for you.  I don't like making you upset over and over again," the black haired boy explained, "It's supposed to be fun, but it just feels... heavy.  I want you to be happy."

" _You_ make me happy," Luke said shakily, "Everyone else treats me like I'm a fucking robot and I have to do everything and I have to do it perfectly.  There are very few people I can actually be _human_ around."

"You're always sad, or anxious, whenever we're together," Michael pointed out.

"Well, coke makes me happy too," the blonde scoffed bitterly.

"That's not fucking funny, Luke.  I'm fucking _worried_ about you, and you just treat it like a joke," Michael pointed out, frustrated, "That shit is going to fucking _kill_ you."

"With the way this shitshow is going, I hope it fucking _does_ , and _soon_ ," Luke snapped.  He instantly regretted his words, cringing as Michael visibly flinched.  He did his best to ignore Michael's hurt expression, trying to calmly set the mug down with his trembling hands instead of flinging it at the wall like he really wanted to, succeeding in spilling hot coffee over his fingers, making him hiss in discomfort.  Michael took a step forward, as if to help, but Luke elbowed him away roughly and wiped the liquid off onto his sweatpants before he escaped into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the comments/kudos/etc guys, i haven't been updating as regularly as i like and i hope to fix that soon! real life is nuts!


	18. Umbrellas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say quitters never win  
> But we walk the plank on a sinking ship,  
> There's a world outside of my front door  
> That gets off on being down.
> 
> Broken down on memory lane  
> Alone together, we're alone.

This was it.  The weather was shit, the vacation was shit, the sex turned to shit, Luke's life was shit, it was all _shitshitshit_.  Luke couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut, and now he'd driven Michael away.  He couldn't blame the older boy for wanting to stay away from him; even Luke didn't want to hang around his own crazy ass.  He paced around the stupid fucking bedroom, waiting to hear the slam of the front door when Michael left him.  Time passed, and Luke tried to calm his frantic breaths, and everything was quiet outside the bedroom door.

He ventured towards the door, still feeling quite hysterical, cautiously turning the handle as he stepped back into the suite.  To his surprise, Michael was sitting on the sofa, sipping from a cup of tea.

"You didn't leave," Luke said as he crept out of the bedroom, slowly taking a seat in a nearby armchair.

"My room card is on your nightstand," Michael replied nonchalantly, shrugging.

"Oh."   _Duh_.

"Did you want me to leave?" the black haired boy asked.

"No," Luke answered quickly.

"I don't want to leave either," Michael admitted, "I just don't think this weird shit we're doing is healthy for you.  You need a stable relationship."

"I want to be in a stable relationship with _you_ ," the blonde said, feeling his throat squeeze around the words to keep them in, as his body instinctually knew he couldn't take them back.

Michael sighed heavily, setting his mug down onto the coffee table in front of him.  He clasped his hands in his lap, staring down towards the floor.  He didn't say anything for a while, allowing Luke's guts to continue slowly turning into knots.

"I'll just go get your room card for you," Luke offered in a strained voice.

"Luke..." Michael started.

"I'll check out in the morning," Luke interrupted, standing up and heading back to where he'd come from, "Everything's already paid for, so you can just, like, have fun, invite a-- a friend, or whatever.  Whatever you want."

"Luke, sit back _down_!" Michael hissed, causing Luke to stare at him in surprise, complying with the order.  The older boy ran a hand through his own hair, sucking in a breath through his teeth, "I just-- there's a million fucking reasons why I _shouldn't_ want to be with you, but-- I do."

"You-- you _do?"_ Luke sputtered, shocked.

"Yes!  Why else would I want to go on a romantic weekend getaway, instead of just holing up in my apartment to fuck for a couple of days?" 

"I guess I didn't think about that. I just didn't consider that you could feel the same way..." the blonde replied, gazing at the floor.

"Well, I do, and it's fucking hard because-- well, the whole _drug thing_ , for one," Michael pointed out, "Coke makes you...fucking scary, honestly.  It brings back the same fucking problems we had when we tried this before."

Luke scoffed, straightening in his seat and glaring at Michael defensively.

"I'm not, like, a fucking _addict_ or anything.  I'm not high right now, am I?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"No, but I can tell that you want to be; you keep wringing your hands and shaking your leg--"

"You're making me fucking anxious!" Luke cut in, consciously holding himself still, wrapping his arms around his own torso instead.  Michael wasn't _wrong_ , but--

"And you keep checking your phone every thirty seconds, because you're waiting for your contact to get back to you, and you probably really wish we'd just gone to sleep, so you could get up in the middle of the night for a ' _cigarette_ ', and I would decide not to join you because I'm already comfy in bed, and then a half hour later you'll sneak back into the room all jittery and strung out and fake insomnia, when I fucking _know_ about insomnia, and then you'll start getting agitated and decide to go for a ' _walk_ ', only to come back at four in the morning, wasted and ready to pass the fuck out, smelling like a fucking liquor store," Michael added, crossing his arms over his chest, daring Luke to challenge him.

The younger boy looked away, unable to argue.  He clenched his jaw, scowling at a nearby table lamp.

"For fuck's sake, Luke, you're already proving my doubts about this relationship if you're not even willing to admit you have a problem," Michael continued, exasperated, "I just want what's best for you, and I need to look out for _me_ , too.  I'm not willing to be in a relationship with someone who's never sober, and I'm not willing to be in the same shitty abusive relationship I was in over a year ago."

"I'll stop doing coke, fine," Luke gritted out, quiet and hesitant, "Whatever you want."

"Just like that?  You think you're just going to _quit_ cocaine, cold turkey?" the black haired boy asked, incredulous, "Are you naive or just bullshitting me?"

"I'll get help," Luke amended, sounding a bit more sure of himself this time, "I want to stop."

"What kind of help?  You'll just google it?"

"I'll talk to my parents.  They'll be glad I'm actually coming to them _before_ it becomes noticeable to the public eye, again.  They won't be able to do anything _but_ help me," Luke explained, "I'll try, I'll stop, if you-- find it in your heart to give me another chance.  I'll beg at your fucking feet, if you want."

"I want you to text your dealer and tell him you've changed your mind, and then I want you to turn your phone off, leave it in here, and we'll go to bed," Michael offered, "No begging necessary."

"I love you," Luke choked out, swallowing hard.

"We'll see," Michael replied.

* * *

"This relationship is on _my_ terms," the older boy warned, the next morning at breakfast.  The sky was clear, and the sun shone down as the pair dined outside in the warm weather, a slight breeze ruffling through their hair, "I know you've grown a lot as a person, but I just want you to know-- I'm here because I _want_ to be, and when I don't feel like you're treating me how you should, I'm allowed to leave without you manipulating me into staying."

"I know.  I'm fucking pathetic for even making you verbalize that as a disclaimer," Luke said quietly, staring at Michael's hands across the table and wishing he could hold them, "Does it bother you that I'm not out?  I'm straight, as far as the world knows.  It's going to be a shitty fucking secret."

"No, I know you would be if you could," Michael reassured him, "I absolutely wouldn't pressure you to come out when you're not ready.  But when people start talking, and they will, it's not _my fault,_ and you will _not_ take it out on me _._ "

"I know."

"Okay.  We'll start slow.  This is our first date," Michael said, relaxing back into his seat and flapping the menu open to check out his options.  Maybe he'd have lobster for breakfast; this was Luke's treat, after all.

* * *

"Stooop," Luke half-whispered, slapping Michael's wandering hand away, "We're at the fucking _beach_."

"Oh, come on, we're so far out in the water that no one can see us," Michael purred.

The two had finally made it to the beach, venturing out deep into the ocean until they came across a sandbar, allowing them to comfortably stand away from the shore.  Michael's hand, as usual, had found its way inside Luke's swim trunks, teasing the younger boy under the water.

"Anyone who's looking wouldn't even be able to see us, we're probably ant-sized to them," Michael soothed, moving closer to the blonde, blocking his view of the busy beach, "We're perfectly safe out here."

"That's not true; the paparazzi were able to get those gross pictures of Kendall and Harry a while back," Luke hissed, bracing himself against the green-eyed boy's shoulder, moaning softly.

"Oh, please, those were so staged," Michael scoffed, pecking Luke on the lips, "Besides, like I said, you're chest-deep in the ocean.  Either it'll look like we're having a strange conversation, or, if the cameraman gets the timing just right, you'll look like you're in the middle of a very intense sneeze.  Or, y'know, you'll look like you're getting an underwater handjob."

"Your apparent exhibitionism kink is giving _me_ second thoughts about this relationship," Luke joked sarcastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *feels guilty updating after two weeks and the update isnt even that long but hey at least we got over this hump and Part Two can really begin*


	19. Celebrity Status

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the mirrors and the lights and the smoke clear,  
> I'd never guess how we ever could have got here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: emotional abuse.

"Join us for dinner, dear, I can't stand to deal with your father alone right now," Luke's mother said, stopping in the doorway of her son's bedroom and knocking on the wooden doorframe before entering further, "He's being absolutely infuriating."

"It's not like _I_ want to deal with him either," Luke grumbled, laying in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin and his laptop computer resting on his chest.  He was feeling awful, having kept his promise to Michael to lay off the coke so far.  It wasn't easy.  It'd only been three days since he'd last used his drug of choice, and his dealer's text messages were becoming increasingly tempting by the hour.  To make up for the lack of his unprescribed depression-dash-anxiety medication, Luke had decided to treat himself to a bottle of wine, which was currently plugged with a cork and concealed under his pile of blankets. 

"Come on, get up.  You've been laying in bed all day, it's time to spend some quality time with your family," his mother ordered, approaching the bed and making as if to flip the comforter off of Luke.  Luke's hand darted over to grab it, intent on hiding the alcohol.  A near-empty bottle of wine in bed, especially before it even hit six o'clock in the evening, would be an absolutely pathetic sight.

"I'll get up, _sheesh_ , just gimme a minute. I'm not wearing any pants," he lied smoothly, shutting his laptop to show that he was, in fact, intending on joining his family for dinner.

"Sure," she said sweetly, beginning to retreat for the door.  Then, just before disappearing back down the hallway, "You might want to do something about that glazed-over look in your eyes and the fermented grape breath first, though, baby." 

* * *

The tension surrounding the dinner table caused the air to feel heavy and thick.  Both parents, instead of speaking through their issues calmy, had taken to  communicating passive-aggressively through their child _("Well, you can tell your mother that--")_ amidst bursts of snide comments.  Their arguments normally revolved around the fact that Luke's father never _made time_ for his wife or son, an issue usually only brought to light _after_ Luke's mother wanted something hilariously expensive and his father refused to pay for it.  It then became a matter of _dedication to this family_ , and, inevitably, one of his outrageously dysfunctional parents would bring up a time that the other had cheated during their marriage.  Luke shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he hated being in the middle of it all.  He sat with his shoulders hunched, muscles coiled tight, as if waiting for an explosion.

"Lukey and I were just talking about this same frickin' thing yesterday, and _he_ didn't know why you have to be such an asshole about it either!" his mother exclaimed, spearing a piece of broccoli with her fork and pointing it at the teen for emphasis, "Isn't that right, baby?  You were saying how controlling and unreasonable your father is; you made some really good points!"

Luke's head snapped up to stare at her, completely blindsided.  _Way to throw your son under the fucking car, bus, truck, and train._

"Oh, really?" his father asked casually, resting his elbows on the tabletop and tenting his fingers together.

Luke's head jerked to the other side of the table, his wide eyes meeting his father's narrowed ones.

"I don't want to argue with you," Luke nearly whimpered, feeling the little men controlling his brain screaming _'abort! abort!'_ as everything started to crash and burn.

"No, I want to hear _your_ opinion," the older man insisted, leaning in closer to his son.

The blonde licked his lips slowly, dropping the spoon he'd been holding in a vicelike grip into his soup bowl.  He turned to look at his mother for guidance, but found that she was all too happy to have the heat taken off of herself and was completely willing to let Luke fall from the cliffside.  He swallowed, mind stuttering to a halt as he looked back at his father, who was watching him expectantly.  He felt hysterical for a moment, unable to believe his joke of a life.

"I'm addicted to coke again and Mom knows and didn't tell you!" Luke blurted out loudly and suddenly, envisioning a plane crash as both of his parents began shrieking over him.  Ignoring their shouts, the teen shoved himself to his feet and ran the fuck away, not stopping until he decided to crouch in hiding behind one of the red leather seats in the movie theater-style entertainment room.  

The blonde watched the door from his spot on the carpeted floor, tensing when his father poked his head through and saw him.  He scrambled to his feet, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble.  The man came through the doorway, stopping just as he crossed the frame, blocking Luke's exit.

"You little fuckup," he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.  He took a leisurely step further into the room, causing Luke to flinch.

Luke felt the blood rushing through his head as his father began to circle him, his adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"How long?" the man asked.

"Since-- since the end of, um, July," Luke stammered, "It started getting bad again mid-August..."

"You've certainly hidden it well; good job," he replied.  Luke's eyebrows flew up towards his hairline.

"Oh, um..."

"First thing tomorrow, we will arrange an outpatient treatment program for you.  Nobody will know," his father said, approaching the younger boy until he was a foot away and Luke was shaking slightly, "And you _won't_ do it _ever_ again.  It's _going_ to work."

"Yes," Luke agreed in a strangled voice, his eyes squeezed shut as he waited for a blow that never came.  He opened them to see his father sneering at him.

"You look like you're going to piss yourself.  Is this how you talk to everyone or are you just trying to annoy me?"

"I'm--just nervous," Luke said, trying to force himself to visibly calm down, wringing his hands in front of him, "I don't know what you want."

"You think I'm going to hit you?  Do you think you'd deserve it?" his father asked, leaning in until the two were nearly nose-to-nose.

"No," Luke shook his head quickly.

"So you think I should just let you do whatever the fuck you want, then?" he continued, "There shouldn't be any consequences for the shit you do?"

"Please, stop," Luke whined pathetically, "Please, I just want to get better, and you're going to give me a fucking ulcer.  I feel like I'm gonna throw up already."

To his surprise, his father backed off, making a show of rolling his eyes, as if to say that this wasn't even worth his time.  

"You will _not_ fuck this up," he warned before finally exiting the room, allowing Luke's knees to buckle as his legs turned to jelly.  He pulled himself into the theater seat, wrapping a nearby throw blanket around himself, attempting to stave off his oncoming anxiety attack by grabbing the remote and mindlessly flipping through the channels.  He settled on a marathon of Cake Boss, his mother coming in to join him with her own bottle of wine a few hours later.  She poured herself a glass and plopped down in the seat next to Luke's.  She stared at him, trying to make eye contact, but Luke kept his eyes trained on the screen, still pissed off that the woman had tried to shift her husband's anger onto him.  His mother settled on a light knee pat and a hair ruffle.

"Love you, sweetie," she said, as if to put a verbal band-aid on their fractured relationship.

"Yeah, okay," he replied, grumpy.

"Wine?" she asked, extending a second, empty glass towards her son.

"You always know just the way back into my heart, Mother," Luke grumbled, accepting the peace offering.

* * *

 

"How'd it go?" Michael asked, forehead resting against Luke's, as they embraced, "What's gonna happen?"

"Better than expected, honestly," Luke chuckled, opting to leave out the hairy details, "They're hiring a private counselor for me.  And," he sighed, "I'm going to have to take a shit-ton of piss tests.  And I _better_ pass them, or, I suspect, I will literally be murdered.  My dad was pleased that next to no one knew about it, and I _can't_ screw that up."

"I'll help however I can," Michael offered, "Just let me know what you need."

"I _need_ you to stay home with me, not go on tour with Calum and Asshole," Luke groaned, "You're gonna forget all about me."

"It's only for a few weeks; we're just hitting the big cities, and I'll be back inside your ass before you know it," the black haired boy said, "And when I get back, I'll finally have the money to buy _you_ dinner somewhere that isn't a chain restaurant."

"Mmm, but I love Red Lobster," Luke joked, "The employees shitting themselves over our presence is so charming."

Michael giggled at that before his expression turned a bit more serious.

"Text me every day.  I want to know how you're doing.  Be good," he said.

"If I'm _really_ good, are you _really_ gonna take me to Red Lobster?" Luke teased.

"Deal.  And then afterwards, we'll have dessert at my place," Michael agreed with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Oh, but their warm apple crostada..." Luke said longingly.

"Fucking brat!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tiiiiiime woooooo


	20. Butterfly bandage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a match, I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: implied abuse and drug usage.

**luke:** michael

 **mikey:** hiii bby how are you

Luke stared down at his phone screen, his thumbs shaking slightly as they hovered over the glass.  His eyes were red-rimmed, and he grimaced as he unthinkingly bit down on his split, swollen lower lip.

 **luke:** i did something bad

The reply came immediately.

 **mikey:** like........????

 **luke:** i dont want to tell you

> you're gonna be really mad at me
> 
> it was a mistake

**mikey:** uhhhh you cant just leave me hanging like this

> im prepared for you to tell me that you just committed a murder or something so please... you can say it
> 
> we can facetime if you want?

The blonde choked out a laugh.  Wouldn't _that_ be a sight to see.  He had just finished typing ' _absolutely not'_ , when the Facetime request came through from Michael's end.  Apparently, he'd taken too long to reply, worrying the older boy.

"Oh holy fucking shit, Luke, are you okay?" Michael gasped upon witnessing his boyfriend's bloody lip through the iPhone screen.  Luke scoffed, pulling the hood of his grey sweatshirt over his disheveled hair, sitting up from his position on the tiled floor of his bathroom.

"I didn't really _want_ to Facetime," Luke offered teasingly, swiping a hand over his eyes to collect any remaining tears.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck happened!" 

"...Failed a drug test," Luke mumbled, his words muffled a bit as he pulled the collar of his hoodie up over his mouth and nose, pulling the strings to tighten the hood around his face, leaving only his red-rimmed blue eyes visible.

"Oh, god," Michael groaned, clutching the sides of his head.

"I'm sorry," Luke sniffled pathetically, looking down so he wouldn't have to meet Michael's eyes, "I really fucking screwed up."

"Please, Luke, I'm way more fucking concerned about your father's parenting style than I am angry that you aren't able to immediately cut yourself off from a highly addictive drug," the older boy reassured him, "Are you-- safe?  I mean, what the fuck am I saying, of _course_ you're not.  Remember I gave you my apartment key, you can stay there as long as you need.  I'm so fucking sorry I'm not there."

"Don't feel bad, it's not like you can do anything about it whether you're in town or not," The blonde said with a heavy sigh.  Neither of them spoke for a few moments, staring at each other with a sense of hopelessness.  After a while, Luke coughed, clearing his throat. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?  I lied to you; you asked me if I was doing okay that day, and I told you I was fine when...I wasn't."

"Are you trying?" Michael asked.

Luke nodded vigorously, whipping the hood back off of his head so he could fully face the black-haired boy.  

"I am, I really am."

"Then, no, I'm not mad at you.  I'm proud of you for doing your best," the older boy soothed.  Luke's eyes lit up at that; _no one_ was _proud_ of him, especially when he hadn't even done anything to _be_ proud of. "Hey, are you busy next week?"

"I'd have to check my schedule, but, I don't think so, no," Luke answered, looking upwards thoughtfully as if his calendar could be seen on the ceiling, "Why?  You'll be in town?" he asked, perking up a bit more.

"No, we'll be in Miami," Michael said.

"Oh," Luke replied, crestfallen.   _Way to get my hopes up,_ he thought.

"Why don't you fly out, see us play a show, and we can do something fun, like a Disney park or Universal or something on our day off?" Michael offered, "I mean, Ashton and Calum would probably come with us, and it'd seem like you were just coming out to support Ash, but still-- it would be a lot of fun.  Wholesome fun.  If they want to go out to a club or something, we can just stay in and, like, get hot stone massages or whatever gay shit Disney resorts have to offer."

"That _does_ sound like fun," Luke agreed, "I'll have to ask my parents if I'm on house arrest.  In, like, a few days when I'm a _good boy_ again."

"Just tell them I'll keep an eye on you the whole time you're here. Your parents love me, they'll definitely go for it."

"They _don't_ love you, Michael," Luke scoffed, shaking his head.

"Oh. Well. Your mom smiled at me, that one time.  That has to count for something," Michael argued.

"Sure, I'm _sure_  it meant something."

* * *

"You want me to let my embarrassing junkie of a son fly all the way across the United States to spend an unsupervised weekend with his boyfriend and his main supplier of illegal substances?" Luke's mother laughed incredulously as Luke stood over her, fiddling with a button on the sleeve of his flannel.  She was sitting at a metal patio table, sipping tea from a porcelain cup.  The woman set the cup back down onto its saucer, twisting to face her son.

"He's--he's not my boyf--" he stammered, but was interrupted.

"You can deny it as many times as you want; I'll believe you when you actually tell the truth," she said impatiently, "That's the least of my worries, as long as you keep it quiet.  Why should I let you go?"

"I...I dunno, I really-- I...want...to...?" Luke asked, feeling stupid.  She probably wouldn't be so difficult if he'd just told her he wanted to visit Michael for the weekend, instead of his transparent lie that he needed to fill Ashton in on their publicity schedule as they neared the end of their television series' midseason hiatus.  But whatever, it was none of her fucking business, anyway.

* * *

**mother** : How dare you just speed out of the driveway like that and leave ME to tell your father where you went

> You ungrateful little piece of shit

Luke hummed contentedly as he stared at the screen of his phone, laying it across his lap as he plugged in his earbuds.  He relaxed into his first-class seat on the airplane to Florida, being just hours away from any semblance of happiness.  A flight attendant tapped him lightly on the shoulder, offering him a selection of drinks as they awaited take-off.  He decided to treat himself to a glass of champagne.  The iPhone buzzed again, reminding him to check his unanswered text messages.  

 **Lukey:** lol

 **mother:** Dont be surprised when you come back and all your clothes and shit is gone you stupid prick

 **Lukey:** sorry , we'll have to chat later, there's no cell service on the plane 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im such a fuckup!!!!!!im so late!!!!!kill me!!!!!!  
> my excuses this week include: i had to attend my friends wedding. and get a bf


	21. Get Busy Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your secret's out and the best part is it isn't even a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings, just heed the tags as usual!

"Mmm," Luke purred into Michael's mouth, reaching down to slip his boxers over his ass and pulling them off before rolling over on top of the older boy.  The sun's first rays shone through the window, warming Luke's bare back as he straddled Michael, beginning to slowly grind on his torso.  The two boys were still half-exhausted from the previous night, but they only had two days to get their fill of eachother before Luke went home alone and Michael began the final three-week stretch of touring with Ashton and Calum. 

Without breaking contact with Luke's morning-breath mouth, Michael shimmied himself out of his own underwear, kicking the remaining sheets to pool at the end of the bed, out of the way.  He reached for the bottle of lube, still uncapped, but Luke batted his hand away.

"We don't have time to fuck, we have to get ready soon," Luke hissed, pressing his nose into Michael's, "I don't want to be waddling like an idiot all over Disney World."

"Fine," Michael snorted, grabbing Luke's ass instead and giving it a squeeze that made the blonde yelp, "Lazy ass."

In response to the taunt, Luke attached his lips to Michael's neck and rolled his hips faster.  The room was filled with the sound of mouths on mouths and necks and skin on skin, neither of the boys stopping to make small-talk in between thrusts.

Luke wished he'd registered the click of the door opening sooner, only realizing the pair had been intruded on when he saw a mop of wavy brown hair out of the corner of his eye.  He nearly broke his neck to whip around and look, feeling his heart stop for far longer than it should have as Ashton stood in the doorway, standing stock-still in wide-eyed, open-mouthed horror.  Luke mirrored Ashton's exact expression, his movements stuttering as he jerkily twisted back to look at Michael, who wore similarly horrified features as he stared towards the doorway.

"Don't yell," Michael urged in the calmest voice he could muster.

Ashton jerked back to life, shivering as though he'd been electrocuted before becoming animated once more.

"WHAT ARE YOU _DOING?!_ " he shrieked, obviously opting to ignore Michael's request.  Luke felt like he was underwater, everything around him happening in slow motion, a bit too muffled to hear or see clearly.

"We--" Michael tried to answer, but was cut off.

"God-- oh my fucking _GOD!!_  My fucking _eyes!!_  I'm never ever ever ever ever ever--" Ashton trailed off as he stumbled backwards down the hallway and into the suite's living room, still shouting, "FUCK!!  What the _FUCK_ was that?!" 

Luke realized he must have looked like he was about to be sick or something because Michael started rubbing his back and murmuring, "It's okay, Luke, it's okay, it's okay.."

But it wasn't.  

The blonde pushed himself away from the other boy with trembling arms, pulling himself out of bed and trying to shakily follow Ashton, who was still screeching in their living room and needed desperately to shut the fuck up.

"Luke," Michael called softly, perched on the edge of the bed, "Babe, wait."

The younger boy spared a glance over his shoulder to see Michael's outstretched arm holding a piece of clothing.

"Underwear first."

* * *

"Ashton, please--" 

Ashton groaned loudly, falling backwards onto the sofa, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes, "Fuck!! _Fuck!!_  I can't fucking believe this, do you have any idea how horrible it is to--" 

"Stop yelling, Ashton!" Luke shushed, gripping the fabric of his boxers as he stood stiffly next to his friend, Michael hovering in the hallway entrance.

"Goddd, you're fucking horrible!" Ashton moaned, ignoring Luke's pleas, "Fucking _horrible!_  You're _disgusting!_  Fucking shit, I can't believe I had to see--!"

"Shut the fuck up, Ashton!" Luke shouted, having just about enough of the older boy's noise.  He seized Ashton's shoulders, forcing the brunette to look up at Luke, "Shut the fuck up, be fucking _quiet!_ " he repeated, hysterical, shaking Ashton for emphasis.  It got the job done, causing Ashton to stare up at him, wide-eyed.

"Why are _you_ upset?" Ashton asked incredulously, " _I'm_ the one who just walked in on my best friends doing-- like, naked-- writhing-- _whatever!_ "

Then, there were two swift knocks on the door, causing all three boys to shut the fuck up and stare as Calum popped in.

"I heard yelling," he explained, shutting the door behind him, "What's going on?"

Michael sighed heavily, leaning against the wall.

"Ashton walked in on me and Luke fucking," he answered defeatedly, knowing it would be impossible to play this off as _'just nothing.'_  Calum's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Oh."

"We weren't _fucking!_ " Luke cried, voice cracking embarrassingly.  He felt frustrated tears prick the corners of his eyes and launched himself into the nearest armchair, scrubbing furiously at his treacherous eyes.

"Dude, are you crying?" Ashton asked, craning his neck to get a better look at the blonde, who was doing his best to shield himself from the older boy's gaze.

"No!" Luke snapped, "Shut the fuck up!"

"Seriously, Luke, I was just playing around, mostly... I mean, when I barged into Michael's room I was mentally prepared to see him jacking off, or having an orgy, or some other type of naked shenanigans, just-- not _you_ ," Ashton said, his tone changing from traumatized to reassuring, "I'm not, like, upset with you or anything, I just... didn't know."

"You don't hate me...?" Luke asked, peeking at Ashton through his fingers.

"No!  Jeez, it's twenty-fucking-sixteen, who gives a shit who you're fucking?  I'm your best friend, I'll be there for you no matter what," Ashton assured him.

"Be that as it may," Michael piped up, drawing the room's attention, "You still can't tell-- anyone.   _This_ doesn't leave this room, _ever_.  It's Luke's decision when, and if, he wants to go public."

Ashton seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding understandingly.  He stood, holding out a hand for Luke to take.  Luke took it, hesitant, and Ashton hauled him up into a hug.

"Love you, dude," the older boy said, clapping Luke on the back, "And your secret's safe with us."

"Thanks, Ash.  Let's get to Disney World before they take away our front-of-the-line badges," Luke said, smiling genuinely.  He'd nearly forgotten why he called Ashton his best friend over the past few weeks, but now it seemed clear as day.

* * *

 

"I wish I'd told Ashton about us before," Luke said, fingers dancing across the handrail to touch Michael's as they shared a cart on the Peter Pan ride, "I never should have doubted him, he really _is_ a good friend."

"Look, Luke..." Michael began gently, giving Luke's hand a squeeze in the darkness of the ride's path, "I'm really happy for you, that Ashton reacted decently, but... don't put _too_ much faith in him.  He's still been shitty to you about other things; supporting you in one area doesn't erase him tearing you down in others."

Luke stiffened, drawing his fingers away and dropping his hand down into his own lap.  

"I'm not an idiot," he said sharply, offended that Michael apparently thought that the blonde was so naive, "I'm just _saying_ , I feel a lot better that I've been reminded of the good in people, instead of being forced to focus on the bad."

"Well," the older boy said, clearing his throat, "I'm glad it gave you back some of your faith in the world, then.  But Ashton's always going to be... _Ashton_.  He's still the reason you've found yourself in certain situations..."

"Don't blame Ashton for _my_ shit," Luke snapped, "It's not his fault I'm total dumbfuck when I'm not under constant supervision.  It's not like he's holding a gun to my head, I can take some goddamn responsibility for the stupid bullshit I do as Hollywood's resident idiot."

"You're _not_ an idiot," Michael started vehemently, but was cut off as Luke stared straight ahead in his seat at the light signaling the end of the ride, which both parties had failed to enjoy.

"I'm done talking about this; change the subject and don't ruin my fucking day," Luke said irritably, shoving the handlebar away from him as the Disney attendant came around to usher guests out of their carts.

"Whatever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> assume updates will be biweekly from now on, as that seems to be what my schedule allows these days :'(


	22. I Am A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am messed up, no distress  
> I fall asleep holding your hand  
> Among alien dunes, you are a pale vision of blue  
> And I’m a second sail, a saved thief  
> So, go save someone else  
> I am a nightmare and you are a miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: alcohol abuse and hmmmmm i think thats it. just heed the fic tags as usual :)

"You drink too much," Michael said, clasping both of Luke's hands in his own.  He gave his boyfriend a peck on the lips as the younger boy stumbled into his arms in Michael's kitchen.

"It'ssokay," Luke slurred, leaning against Michael's chest, allowing the black-haired boy to retrieve a glass of water for him.

"It's not," Michael insisted, ushering Luke back to the living room and settling him down onto the couch, next to Ashton, "I'm glad you seem to be doing a lot better with your addiction counseling since we've gotten back home, but going out like this practically every night isn't good for you, either."

"Oh, lay off him, Michael," Ashton said, draping an arm over the back of the couch, "He needs _something_ to get him through his fucked up life.  Being under so much pressure all the time from all directions is fucking _hard_ ; let him have some fun."

"Ashton'ssmy bestfriend," Luke sighed contentedly, closing his eyes with a shrug.

"It's not just harmless fun when you get him fucking trashed and dump him at my place as soon as you possibly can, and then I'm the one who has to stay up all night taking care of his sick, sad, and helpless ass," Michael hissed.  

Luke doubled over, suddenly very interested in taking off his black Converse high tops, but the double-knotted laces were a mystery to him.  Focused on the task at hand, he nearly rolled right off the sofa, using his hands to brace himself against the carpet.  He remained motionless, unsure of how he was going to accomplish his mission.  Michael rolled his eyes and gently lifted Luke's shoulders, propping back him up against the couch cushions.  He leaned down to help his boyfriend untie his shoes, glaring up at Ashton as he did so.

"If it bothers you so much, just come out _with_ us and give him extra supervision!  It's not _my_ job to babysit _your_ fucking boyfriend!" Ashton said incredulously, holding his hands out in disbelief.

"Or, you could try being a decent person and not constantly bring your best friend who's suffering from addiction to a place where you know there's going to be easy access to the _exact shit he's addicted to_ , and then leave him alone to fend for himself!" Michael snapped, "You could easily stay in and play videogames, or watch movies, or go to a fucking concert, or _anything_ fucking _else_!"

Luke groaned, clutching the sides of his head and rocking back and forth in his seat.  The thrumming energy of hostility filling the room was making him fucking dizzy, and he could barely follow the conversation.  He needed to lay down somewhere dark and quiet.

"Luke's a grown fucking adult and it's his decision if he wants to go to the club!  You're just babying him!"

"He's nineteen fucking years old, he doesn't need to have a fucking drinking problem or a coke addiction or whatever the fuck you told him was cool to do!  He goes to the club with you because he wants to spend time with you and doesn't think you'd enjoy doing anything else!" the black-haired boy shouted.  He heard Luke whimper unhappily next to him, and felt the younger boy's fingers desperately fisting the fabric of his t-shirt.  Michael wordlessly slid the previously prepared garbage can from beside the sofa to between Luke's knees, rubbing the blonde's back as he immediately emptied the contents of his stomach into it.  Michael exhaled deeply as he reached for the tissue box on the coffee table, not bothering to look at Ashton as he spoke, "Go home, Ashton.  It's not like you want to help anyway."

"Don't talk to Ashhh like that," Luke pouted, eyeing Michael from where he leaned over the trash can.  Michael grabbed the glass of water from the coffee table and shoved it into the blonde's hands to silence him.

"Have some water, your breath stinks."

The eldest boy scoffed, standing up to leave.

"Okay, let me know what his curfew is next time so you can tuck him into bed at a decent hour, Grandma."

* * *

Luke awoke with a start, shooting up in bed as the toilet flushed in the nearby bathroom.  He immediately wished he hadn't moved so suddenly, his head pounding and his stomach churning with the motion.  The blue eyed boy curled up miserably, pulling the blankets over his face with a groan.

"How are you feeling?" he heard Michael ask as the bed dipped with the older boy's weight.

"Sorry," Luke answered, feeling Michael's hand patting his thigh over the sheets.

"For what?"

"Being a dumb shit.  A dumb drunk shit."

"Well, technically my ultimatum was to end your coke addiction, I barely tried to tackle the liquor thing," the older boy mused dryly, pulling the covers down to look at Luke's face.

"It's not fair to you, and I don't want to do it," Luke replied, not looking at Michael, ashamed, "I just... wanted to make Ashton happy.  I don't like feeling like this."

"Are you gonna stop?" Michael asked, twirling a piece of his boyfriend's hair between his fingers.

"Can you...can you help me?" Luke asked, ducking his head further, feeling his cheeks redden pathetically, "I need, like, a conscience."

"If you'll try, I'll try," Michael said.  Luke nodded at that, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position.

"So... what do you want to do today?  Coffee, breakfast, skydiving, climbing Mount Everest, it's my treat, whatever you want," the younger boy offered, "I have a photoshoot a bit later, though.  Some winter collection or something."

"Oh, good.  You can wear the pink buttplug I bought you to your photoshoot," Michael said with a grin.  Luke paled.

"I can't do that!"

"You technically _can_..." 

"No!"

"Fine," the older boy sighed.

Luke waited expectantly for Michael to continue, with some other ridiculous ultimatum.  When he received none, he smacked the black haired boy lightly in the chest.  Michael stared at him questioningly.

"Is that it?" Luke asked in disbelief, "' _Fine_ ,' just like that?  Aren't you going to make me?"

"Well, if you're not feeling up to it, it's not like I'm gonna pressure you!" Michael retorted.

"You were supposed to insist at least a few more times!  Come on!"

* * *

"Take a fifteen-minute break," the photographer muttered, waving his hand dismissively as he turned away from the scene.  After Michael had insisted on Luke wearing the toy to his photoshoot, things weren't doing the best.  He'd had to be reminded to stand up straight at least five times, to watch his expression, to try and tame his flushing face, and now he couldn't stand still, due to the fact that he needed to find a bearable position to pose in, and none seemed to be working.  Not to mention that the poses he'd been using in an attempt to hide his boner weren't very _high fashion._

 **luke** : i cant do it, the photographer and probably the whole team are getting pissed at me for fucking up lmao

 **mikey** : ok pussy

 **luke** : wow what happened to the understanding michael of this morning ?

 **mikey** : i mean feel free to take it out

Luke began typing, but was interrupted by a second text.

 **mikey** : u pussy

 **luke** : your gonna start paying me yourself if i end up losing gigs because of you >:(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for continuing to leave comments and kudos and stuff!


	23. Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If these sheets were the states, and you were miles away,  
> I'd fold them end over end to bring you closer to me.  
> Because I don't sleep at all without you pressed up against me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: some smut, near the end of the chapter. nothing really explicit imo-- if you've made it this far you'll be fine!

Buckling his seatbelt, Luke glanced at the time on his phone screen.  He set his coffee into the cupholder at his side, estimating that it would take approximately thirty minutes to drive from this location to the next.  The blonde crossed his arms over his chest, leaning far back in his seat and resting his head against the window.  Thirty minutes was enough for a short, much needed nap.  

"Are you going to _sleep?_ " came a grating voice to his left.

"Mhm," Luke hummed, trying not to let his mother get on his nerves for stating the obvious, "That's what people often do when they've been awake for twenty-seven hours."

Luke's father had somehow swung a load of jobs for his son, which sounded great, since _he_ wasn't the one who had to work at them.  The teen had nearly cried when he saw his calendar, full to bursting with sixteen-eighteen- _twenty_ -hour work days, with gig after gig _after gig_ on _top_ of the movie role he'd accepted before he knew his father was going to attempt to fucking kill him with work.  

He'd just come from shooting a scene at the beach for said movie, a John Green-esque coming-of-age-slash-cheesy-romance flick ( _he didn't mean to brag, but he'd definitely be winning more than a few Teen Choice Awards for it_ ), before immediately being rushed away to a photoshoot for a shitty little magazine.  Tomorrow was more of the same, although the day after that, his _"day off"_ , he would be starring in a music video before guest starring on some game show on TV.   _Woohoo_.  His brain was so fried, he didn't bother to keep track of who exactly he'd be working with on what day.  

"You should just hold off on that and have more coffee," his mother said.  Luke immediately felt his face twist into a displeased snarl, eyes still closed. "You're going to look like shit when we get to the studio, you don't want to walk in there looking like you just rolled out of bed."

"I won't be able to walk in _anywhere_ if I don't get some fucking sleep," Luke hissed, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, "I've already had three fucking pots of coffee!  It's not going to keep working, I'll just collapse."

Luke's mother reached over and yanked her son's hood down, causing Luke to snap his head towards her, fists clenched angrily.  She stared him down, confident he wasn't going to lash out at her, before shoving the cup of coffee back into his hands.

"You can sleep on our way home."

* * *

"What the fuck is on this sandwich?  Didn't I ask for no onions?  And where the fuck are my fucking chips?" Luke barked, advancing upon the poor girl who was unfortunate enough to bring the actor the wrong food.

"Oh gosh, I'm really sorry!  I'm so sorry, I really don't remember you asking for anything other than-- here, I wrote it down-- the grilled chicken sandwich, light on the sauce, spinach instead of lettuce, add avocado..." she tried to explain, pointing out the words scribbled on her notepad.

"What, so you're saying I'm _wrong?_ " he snapped.  He was about to tell the girl exactly where she could shove the stupid goddamn fucked up sandwich, but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Luke, chill out, man," Michael soothed.  The younger boy wanted to scream.  He didn't _ask_ for Michael to visit him on his lunch break, usually using his time to scarf down food before hiding under a catering table to nap until someone was able to locate him.

"She already brought me the wrong fucking coffee today, and I don't fucking have time for this!" Frustrated tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and his voice wobbled when he continued, "All I  even fucking wanted were the jalapeño kettle chips, I've been looking forward to them all fucking day, and, and now--"

"Luke, please don't cry over a bag of chips.  The assistant can just go get them for you, and we'll pick the onions off your sandwich, and everything will be fine," Michael said calmly, gently directing the girl to find Luke's damn bag of chips at all costs.  He pulled the blonde into his arms, "Besides, your mother will have a fucking fit if your face is all splotchy and teary and snot-filled when she gets here, and I _know_ you don't want to deal with that."

"I'm so tired," Luke whined into Michael's neck, "I've probably gotten a total of fifteen hours of sleep this entire past _week_!"

"Jesus, and _why_ are you doing this, again?"

"My dad set it all up, probably to punish me for being born or something by watching me die of exhaustion.  I don't even get to be _away_ from my parents with all this shit either; one of them always shows up to escort me to my next obligation to make sure I'm not making pit stops to, y'know, _breathe_ or whatever."

At that, Luke pulled away from Michael, knowing realistically that they shouldn't have been holding each other for so long-- that definitely wasn't a _Bro-Hug_.  He flopped tiredly down onto a folding chair with his name on it, running a hand over his own face, stretching his skin exaggeratedly. 

" _That's_ attractive," the older boy joked as Luke manually tugged the corners of his own lips into a deeper frown. "So, do you _ever_ have a day off?"

"The day after tomorrow, I have a two-day ' _break_ ', then my schedule picks up again for another week before I'll finally be laid to rest," the blue-eyed boy explained through grit teeth.

"Well," Michael started, angling himself so no onlookers would be able to see him risking a quick kiss to Luke's forehead, "On those two days, I'd be happy to spend all day in bed with you," he said suggestively.  Luke groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"You know I'm all fucked up when two straight days of fucking sounds like too much work," he moaned unhappily.

* * *

"I lied, I lied, this was a good idea," Luke panted as Michael teased his stretched entrance with the butt plug he'd just taken out of him.  The plug was _big_ ; Luke had almost safe-worded out in fear that the thing simply wasn't going to _fit_ , but Michael-- and a vast amount of lubrication-- made it both possible and inexplicably pleasurable.

Luke was bent over the foot of the bed, knees dangling a bit over the floor, his hands secured with Michael's new pair of fuzzy leopard-print handcuffs.  The handcuffs were tied to the bedpost above the pillows with rope, keeping Luke in place.  Michael landed a harsh smack to one of the younger boy's plump asscheeks, causing him to jump up with a yelp.  Luke moaned at the friction this caused on his cock against the mattress, before turning his head angrily.

"What the fuck?" he snapped.

"That was for laughing at my fuzzy handcuffs," Michael said playfully, wrapping a lube-coated hand around his own cock, "They weren't cheap."

"Eugh, will you _please_ just fuck me?"

* * *

"Shower?" Michael asked sweetly, unclicking the handcuffs to free his boyfriend, who was currently face down and limp on the mattress.  Both Luke and the sheets were in need of a good wash.  Wrists freed, Luke slid bonelessly onto his knees on the hardwood floor, slumped over in defeat.  Michael chuckled, attempting to pull the younger boy back onto the mattress by hooking his arms under Luke's armpits, "I'm not _that_ strong, you know."

"Nap," Luke mumbled, eyes fluttering closed.  It was still early in the day, the two boys getting right to their activities upon Luke's midmorning arrival.

"Bath first, _then_ I can change the sheets, _then_ we can nap.  I don't wanna wake up covered in stiff, sticky blankets," Michael insisted, tugging on the sheets trapped beneath Luke's body.  Luke frowned, dropping all his dead weight onto the bedding so it would be even more difficult for Michael to pull it out from under him.  He shooed Michael's hands away.

"We're just gonna wake up and fuck some more, don't waste my day cleaning your cheap ass bed sheets," Luke growled, leaving no room for argument.  He blindly groped around for Michael's arm, pulling the older boy onto the bed, "Sleep."

 

* * *

Luke awoke to the sound of his phone buzzing on the bedside table.  He cracked one eye open, reaching for it and squinting at the screen.  It was a text from Ashton.

Michael stirred beside him, smushing his face into the blonde's chest lovingly.

"What is it?  Anything important?" Michael yawned.

"Ashton wants to go out tomorrow night," Luke said hesitantly.  The older boy scoffed.

"Of course he does.  Do _you_ want to go?  It'd kind of negate the whole _'getting your crucial beauty sleep'_ thing..."

"Well, I was wondering if, maybe, you'd come with me?  I _do_ want to hang out with Cal and Ash, since it _is_ my day off, but...I can't really be left-- y'know-- I don't want to drink, but if I'm alone-- and if you're there, you can make me go home at a decent time, and I don't even work until the afternoon--"

"Luke, I'll come with.  You deserve a night out.  Neither of us will have drinks, we can watch out for each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for continuing to give kudos/bookmark/comment/etc!!!
> 
> also i wish i could juggle multiple projects at a time bc i have other ideas but my biggest peeve is when i realize all of an authors fics are unfinished ahhhh


	24. Never conquered, rarely came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd die alone,  
> another six months I'll be unknown,  
> give all my things to all my friends,  
> you'll never step foot in my room again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big chapter warning for drug use/abuse !!!  
> although you probably shouldnt be reading this specific fic if you have an issue with that but hey

"I hope Calum's here; he'll hang out with us, even if Ashton ignores us after I tell him it's gonna be a _tipsy-not-smashed_ kind of night," Luke said, speaking close to Michael's ear so that he could be heard over the noisy club music and the screeches of fans in line who just recognized the pair.  They skipped the line, ignoring any gaping-mouthed stares and shouts, glancing at the bouncer before stepping around and into the bar.

"Hey, look who showed up!" Ashton greeted when Michael and Luke arrived at their VIP booth, a cocktail garnished with a fun little paper umbrella and a maraschino cherry in hand, "Luke, I thought you'd be in hibernation mode all weekend!"

"Glad you could join us," Calum agreed, smiling up at them from his seat.  He and Ashton scooted over to make more room around the table for the two boys, who were also greeted by Bryana, along with a few of her model friends that Ashton had likely hooked up with and kept around because they looked pretty.

"Yeah, I figured, I can just sleep when I'm dead," Luke joked, sliding into the seat next to Michael.  He gazed at the array of alcoholic drinks set on the table, then tapped his fingers anxiously on the finished wood surface, gathering Michael's attention. "I can have three drinks, that's all," he said quietly to the older boy.

"You can have _one_ drink-- any more than that and you'll get bratty when I cut you off," Michael replied, squeezing Luke's free hand under the table.  Then, louder, "We aren't gonna stay out too late, we just wanted to hang for a bit."

"Ah, then we better make the most of it, huh, Luke?" Ashton said with a suggestive grin.

"No," Luke answered flatly, "Not tonight."

"Ugh, boring," Ashton said, rolling his eyes, "Don't get pissed at me for leaving you behind and having all the fun, then."

Michael's hand patted Luke's knee comfortingly.

"Oh come on, we had plenty of fun that time we raided my dad's garage and sent his favorite car tumbling down that bluff, and we didn't even know drugs _existed_ back then," Luke scoffed.

"Oh shit, I remember hearing about that!" Calum laughed.

"Yeah, that was a pretty fucking fun night," Ashton admitted, smiling fondly at the memory, "God, remember that time we broke past your neighbor's security while they were on vacation?"

"What?!   _How?!_  Your neighbor's house is a fucking fortress!" Michael sputtered.

"Well, it wasn't _then_ ," Luke said, trying not to laugh.

"We drank all their booze, tore the house apart, probably ruined their hot tub beyond repair, then accidentally passed out in the master bedroom.  We woke up to the lady screaming her ass off before the police hauled us away.  Luke's first time getting drunk turned out to be pretty damn memorable," Ashton continued.

"It was wild," Luke said, "I'm pretty sure not one single person saw me for the next few months, and the neighbors still despise us for not getting charged with breaking and entering."

"Oh, oh!" Michael exclaimed excitedly, waving his hands to and fro, "Hey, Calum, remember that time we got caught skinny dipping in that fountain at--" 

" _No!_ " Calum shouted, cutting him off, "You said you'd never mention that!"

"Well, now he _has_ to tell us," Ashton said, elbowing the brown-eyed boy in the ribs playfully.

* * *

"C'mon, let's go smoke, it's too hot in here," Michael panted, covered in a thin layer of sweat from dancing.

The blonde nodded, patting around his pants pockets, only to find them empty.  He glanced up at Michael and Calum, gesturing back towards the VIP booth where they'd been sitting.

"My cigs and wallet are back at the table, I'm gonna go grab 'em before someone decides drinks are on me," he said, turning and calling out behind him, "I'll meet you outside."

Luke emerged from the velvety privacy curtains at the table reserved for him and his friends.  Luke recoiled as he approached, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut.  Luke's leather wallet was sitting open on the table, his driver's license being used by Ashton as a tool for cutting lines of cocaine right there next to their drinks.  The group looked up at him in surprise, hovering at the edge of the booth anxiously, fists clenched tightly.  He should just turn around and borrow one of Michael's cigarettes.  He should go, _now_.

"Finally joining us, Luke?" Ashton asked, not bothering to look up as he plucked a twenty dollar bill from his friend's wallet and rolled it into a straw shape.

"No," Luke gritted out, staring at the beautiful streaks of white laid out perfectly on the tabletop, "I'm three weeks clean."

"And you don't want any after this week of hell?  I find _that_ hard to believe."

"Ashton..." Of course he wanted it, he wanted it every second of every fucking day, a little voice in his head constantly screamed for it, the only reason he hadn't done it in the past three weeks was because he was either held hostage by his parents, or lazing around Michael's _clean_ house.

"When are you going to start being _fun_ again?  If you just have a little, you'll be in a better mood, you'll have more energy, and maybe Michael will stop complaining about having to drag your mopey ass around all the time," the older boy said.  Luke felt a pang in his heart.

"Michael does that?" he asked, feeling lost.

"Uh, yeah, duh," Ashton said flatly, rolling his eyes, "I don't know how you haven't noticed, but it's _kinda_ hard to be around you when you're so damn _depressing_.  You're like a kitten with three legs, everyone has to drop everything to take care of you because you're so hurt and fragile.  Pretty draining."

Luke clenched his jaw, nudging Ashton aside to make room at the booth so he could sit down.  The blonde withdrew another bill from his own wallet, rolling it up.  Michael was the only one who cared about this shit anyway, the only one standing in his way.  

"Tell me what else Michael said."

* * *

"Luke, where the fuck have you been?  We finished smoking like ten minutes ago," Michael asked as Luke bounced out from the backdoor of the club, shaking hands pulling the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket almost desperately.  He struggled to light one, and the black haired boy took a step forward to help.  Michael's heavy boot accidentally shattered a piece of glass underneath it, the loud crunching sound making Luke jump back from the older boy, startled.  The blue-eyed boy laughed nervously while Michael and Calum shared a suspicious glance.

"Did something happen?" Calum asked, slowly approaching his friend.

"No, no," Luke said quickly, wiping sweat from his brow, "I just-- when I went back to the table, Ashton and I got to talking, and I lost track of time-- it went surprisingly well, which put me a little on edge, I think he's really going to start being a better friend.  And then, and then my dad texted me, which, y'know--"

"Remember to stop and _breathe_ once in a while, Luke," Michael said, gently rubbing his boyfriend's back.

"Yeah, cigarettes are great for that," Luke joked, taking a long drag, "Sorry for making you wait. You guys wanna stay out here with me anyway?  It's so hot in there."

* * *

"No, I _told_ you before that I don't _like_ that!" Luke snapped irritably, slamming his fist down on the table where he'd gathered with Calum, Michael, and Bryana.  Ashton was nowhere in sight, and had come and gone randomly throughout the night.  A splitting headache was forming within Luke's brain, as well as a congested nose.  It would be time to go home and crash soon, if the fact that he'd just yelled at Bryana for not knowing about his aversion to rollercoasters and other high heights was any further indication.

"Jeez, Luke, what's wrong with you?" Calum asked, putting a comforting arm around a bewildered Bryana's shoulders, "I know you've had a tough last couple of days, but _still_ \-- no need to be a bitch."

Luke scanned their expressions, a mixture of hurt and disapproval written across them.  He looked towards Michael for reassurance that they were just being too sensitive, but found his boyfriend wearing a similar expression.  He swallowed, looking down into his long-empty glass.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't realize.  Every little thing has been pissing me off, I'm sorry Bryana.  I'm, uh," he continued, standing up, "I'm going to go to the bathroom and, like, be _quiet_ for a few minutes."

"Do you want me to just take you home?" Michael offered, but there was a hint of annoyance there, like he would be doing Luke a favor by cutting his own night short.

"No, it's okay, I just need to-- to _stop_ , for a while."

* * *

The dark purple bathroom door swung open to reveal Ashton leaning against the countertop, standing next to none other than that one bitch who nearly outed Luke and Michael's relationship over Twitter.  He sighed heavily, then sighed even more heavily when he realized they were snorting more fucking lines of coke off the bathroom counter.

"Hey buddy," Ashton greeted.

"This is all really shitty," the blonde sighed, defeated.

"What's wrong?  Boyfriend troubles?" the girl asked in a snotty tone.  Luke ignored her, turning towards Ashton.

"Everyone's mad at me because I can't stop being a dick," Luke explained, "And I'm starting to have a headache and I feel like shit."

"You're coming down from your high, duh," Ashton said, knocking two fingers against Luke's skull teasingly.

"I _know_ that."

"So _what_ do we _do_ when we're coming down and feel like shit?" the older boy asked expectantly.

"Uh, go home and go the fuck to sleep?" 

"I mean yeah, if you _want_ to ruin a good time.  Otherwise, just, like, do a couple more lines or something.  I have Oxy too, if you're getting antsy," Ashton offered.  Luke stared at him.

"I shouldn't, Michael's gonna know something's up," Luke said.

"Fine.  Go home then." Ashton said dismissively, pointedly turning away from the younger boy.

* * *

 _'Shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have done that,'_ Luke thought, stumbling his way out of the bathroom, heart hammering its way out of his ribcage, ' _Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_.'  He needed to go home, he needed _air_ and _water_ and for his chest to stop feeling like it was about to crack wide open.

"Mikey," he panted, flinging himself towards the tall table where the black haired boy stood.  He clutched Michael's sleeve, breathing heavily, "I need to go home."

"Are you _high_?" Michael whispered harshly, pulling himself out of Luke's grip.  Luke grasped the table to steady himself, the furniture wobbling a little.  He stopped to breathe for a moment, focusing on keeping his head attached to its shoulders when it threatened to explode into a million tiny pieces, before looking up at Michael, licking his lips. "You ask me to come out here with you, to _help_ you, and then at the first chance you get, you run off and get high?!  I can't fucking _believe_ this!"

"I'm sorry," Luke gasped, tugging at the collar of his shirt with one hand, wishing he could maintain his balance long enough to rip his jacket off and toss it to the floor.  It was entirely too hot, it was nauseating.  His heart felt like it was vibrating, "I think I'm going to die," he scoffed incredulously.  Unfuckingbelievable.  The _inconvenience_.

Michael froze, unblinking.  He shook his head, like he couldn't have possibly understood what Luke was saying.  Luke didn't blame him; all audio had become garbled over the roaring in his ears a few minutes before.

" _What_?  What are you talking about?" Michael asked, trying and failing to look the blonde in the eyes while Luke's pupils couldn't focus and couldn't stay still, "What did you do?"

"I don't think I wanna be friends with Ashton anymore," Luke muttered quietly, stumbling dangerously.

Another gaping hole seemed to have formed in Luke's ribcage and he focused on not throwing up as the world turned to slow motion. Michael's hand pounded on the table in front of him, and he vaguely heard his name far off in the distance.  Michael must have noticed him losing his balance first, as he saw the older boy attempting to lunge for him before Luke toppled to the ground in an unconscious heap, bringing the tall teetering table down with him in an embarrassing scene straight out of a made-for-Lifetime movie.


	25. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've come this far,  
> You're all cleaned up,  
> You've made a mess again,  
> There's no more trying,  
> Time to sort yourself out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no specific chapter warnings, just heed the fic tags!

The room was white, Luke noticed upon his eyes cracking open.   _His_ bedroom was not.  He tried to think deeper, to figure out what that could possibly mean, but he couldn't _think_ , and it was scary, and he stopped trying.  

 _'Just focus on the little things,'_ he thought.  The bed was small.   _His_ bed was not.  There were restraints on his wrists that he didn't remember Michael putting on him.  The baby blue blanket covering his torso and legs was warm and soft.  The chalkboard near the door with fill-in-the-blank boxes read, 'Hi **Luke**!  Your nurse from **3:00am** until **3:00pm** is **Ashley :)**.'  He was in the hospital, he finally realized.  Distress bloomed in him, knotting his guts but he was too exhausted to do anything about it.  He wished he'd just fucking died.  

Movement to his right caught Luke's eye, and he saw Michael sitting in the uncomfortable-looking chair next to the bed, elbow resting on the armrest, head propped up on one hand.  The older boy's green eyes were red-rimmed, his face flushed as he stared at Luke.

"Hey," Michael said casually.  Luke's eyes immediately welled up with tears; Michael didn't fucking deserve _this_.

"Michael," Luke croaked, "I am so, _so_ s--"

"Be quiet," he interrupted, patting the top of Luke's dirty sandy-blonde hair gruffly, "I'm trying to celebrate your _life_."

Luke looked away, staring down at his lap as he sniffled for a while, trying to hold back tears and snot and failing because he couldn't move his stupid fucking hands more than an inch in any direction.

"Do you remember anything after you knocked the table over?  You were awake for a while, but-- not really coherent," Michael said hesitantly.

_"Please don't tell my dad, please don't tell my dad," Luke begged between chattering teeth.  There was vomit on his shirt, God, what the fuck had he done?  He could barely register where he was, just that the red and blue flashing lights meant that he was in big fucking trouble.  His hands were trying to convulse their way out of Michael's bone-crushing grip. "Michael, I want my mom, I don't know what to do, I need to go home, I have to--"_

_"Sh, you're gonna be fine, everything's gonna be fine," Michael shushed, swiping Luke's sweat-soaked bangs away from his forehead._

_The younger boy found himself babbling on and on to Michael about Ashton and mistakes and apologies.  There was sweat and another stabbing pain in his chest before there was a rush of calm and quiet when the fluid from the IV found its way into his veins._

"It's funny, I...don't remember anything," Luke said finally, eyes squeezed shut.  Then, after a pause, in hopes to change the subject at least a little, "But I feel terrible."

"Yeah, well, you nearly fried your brain, had a couple of seizures, they've been monitoring you for strokes and heart attacks all night, and, they've got you on benzos to stop you from, y'know, freaking the fuck out and going on a rampage," Michael explained bitterly, "I've been here this whole time."

"Thank you," Luke said quietly, cheeks burning with shame, "They let you stay even though you're not family?"

"I'm Michael Clifford," he said, pointing a thumb at his own chest, "I'm _famous_."

Luke chuckled, then stopped abruptly.  His face went ghost-white.  Michael leaned forward in his chair, gently placing a hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"You gonna throw up again?" Michael asked, concerned.  Luke shook his head quickly.

"No, I just-- I'm-- I-- my _job_ , my parents--" he sputtered, clutching the bedrails tightly.  The heartrate monitor beeped dangerously, "I have to call them-- Fuck, _fuck_ \--"

"I already did, babe, calm down before the nurses come running in and yell at me for overexciting you." 

The beeping slowed after a few seconds, Luke attempting to control his breathing.

"And?" Luke asked.  

"You don't want to know what your dad said," the black haired boy said after a moment's hesitation, "But your mom's gonna stop by later today, her snobby bitch façade cracked a little.  She was concerned."

Sinking down defeatedly into the mattress and pillows, Luke took a deep breath and let his eyes fall closed.

"I'm so tired," he said miserably.

"Then go to sleep.  I'll be here, like usual."

"Mm," Luke hummed, already halfway there.

* * *

A shrill voice pierced through Luke's mostly-peaceful dreams.

"Look at you!  How could this happen?!"

His blue eyes popped open to see his mother standing at the foot of the bed, hands waving around like she'd just walked in on a murder scene, not wanting to touch anything.  Michael was nowhere in sight.

Luke groaned unhappily, wiping the sleep out of his eyes with his fingertips.  While he'd slept, the nurse who came in to check his vital signs had removed the wrist restraints after Michael convinced her that Luke's thrashing days were over.

"Oh, my poor baby!" she cried, sitting down very cautiously on the edge of Luke's mattress.  She reached out, as if to stroke his cheek, but withdrew her hand, "Jesus, has no one bothered to bathe you?  You're just _filthy_!"

"I think they were more preoccupied with saving my life than making sure I looked presentable for you," he yawned.

"We'll get someone to help you get cleaned up as soon as possible, dear.  You'll feel much better," she said, daring to run her fingers through her son's greasy blonde hair.  She leaned over to kiss Luke's forehead before taking one of his hands in both her own and holding it tightly.  She stared at him, tight-lipped and a bit misty-eyed, like she didn't know what to say, didn't know any comforting words at all.  Then, finally, as she broke her gaze, she groaned, "How could you do something so _stupid_?"

"I'm an idiot," Luke suggested weakly.

His mother sighed, taking her hands off his and placing them in her lap, inspecting a ring on her finger as she spoke.

She said, "I suppose the only thing for you to do now is make a statement acknowledging the fact that you attempted suicide last night."

Luke wrinkled his nose, confused.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself," he said.   _What in the world?  He thought she knew that...?_

"Well," the woman started, "You _certainly_ weren't snorting cocaine at a club in the midst of filming for a PG-13 rated tween movie, _especially_ not after visiting rehab a few months ago for your pill addiction, _especially_ not after getting into a drunken bar fight weeks after, _especially_ not after photos of someone who looks suspiciously like you snorting coke at a club appeared on the net, and _especially_ not when you're secretly dating _a boy_.  Are you understanding me?  We're going to deal with this.  You had a budding alcohol problem and took a few weeks off, you patched things up with Michael Clifford after your little misunderstanding, leading to the two of you becoming the best of friends, you were having dinner with your parents while your lookalike was at that club, and _now_ you've attempted suicide due to all the pressure you're under."

"No," Luke said flatly, "No one's going to believe that I really went out with my friends on a Saturday night with the intent of killing myself at the club.  And, I just don't give a fuck if everyone knows what I did, it just doesn't fucking matter."

"Your father isn't going to like that," she said quietly, looking Luke in the eye.  He stiffened defensively, hardening his gaze.

"Threatening your bedridden son with physical violence.  Very classy."

"Luke Robert Hemmings, this is serious," his mother hissed, leaning forward and seizing her son's shoulder, giving it a shake for emphasis, "I'm not threatening you; I'm _warning_ you.  You really screwed up.  You _need_ to take care of it."

The teen tightened his fists and jaw, glaring at the older woman.

"Let go of me," he snarled, "And get out."

His mother loosened her grip in favor of rubbing Luke's shoulder in what was meant to be a soothing manner.

"Baby..." she began, clearly trying to make amends, but was cut off.

"Out.  I'm resting."

"Luke," she said seriously, "You can't--"

"Get _out_!" he shouted, slamming his fist down on the remote next to his thigh, the one with the big red button that allowed him to immediately call a nurse.  His mother stood up quickly, bewildered, but made no move to actually leave.  Frustrated, Luke pounded the call button repeatedly, shrieking, "Get out!  Get out!!   _Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout!!_ "

Upon realizing that her son was not about to stop making a ruckus, the woman finally fled with haste and without another word.

Moments later, a young woman wearing medical scrubs rushed in, finding Luke sucking in harsh breaths between clenched teeth, hands fisted in the blanket with a white-knuckled grip, trembling.  The woman checked him over while Luke struggled to communicate that he was having a fucking panic attack, explaining in half-sobs that he didn't want his mother allowed back in his room because she was going to give him an aneurysm.  The nurse accepted Luke's crushing grip on her offered hand until the worst subsided, before stepping out for a moment. 

She returned with a heavy, heated blanket that made Luke's eyelids droop as soon as it made contact with his shoulders, and some type of medication that helped him feel like he was drifting through the clouds when injected through his IV.

"Uncomfortable?  Need to use the bathroom?  Need anything?" she asked.  When Luke shook his head _'no,'_ the woman smoothed out the blanket already across his lap, tucking in the edges.  "There ya go, buttercup," she said, placing the television remote against his leg, and handing him his phone, which he had been absentmindedly groping around for.  The nurse checked the blonde's vital signs once more.  Satisfied that he wasn't dying, she directed him to call her if he needed anything, and left after gently patting his head.

Luke sat in contented silence for a few moments, staring at the commercials playing on the wall-mounted television.  After a while, he wondered where his phone went, before finding it in his own hands.  There was a text on it, from Michael, explaining that he'd gone home to change clothes, shower, and sleep for a few hours, but he'd be back in the evening.  Luke sighed, but his body was unwilling to think anything other than, _"This is fine,"_ so he went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update came early! thanks for all the comments/kudos/bookmarks/etc again!!


	26. Slippery Slope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And you can't blame your mother,  
> She's trying not to see you as her worst mistake  
> And I wish that I could tell you right now, that I love you  
> But it looks like I won't be around  
> So you won't know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: child abuse

"I'm back," Michael announced, entering the hospital suite with a decaffeinated herbal tea and a black coffee, fresh from Starbucks, in each hand.  He crossed the room to where Luke was sitting in one of the two stiff armchairs next to the window overlooking the city.  Luke had been moved from his first hospital room to one that would accomodate a longer stay.  He had been set to stay a week for careful observation and tests, being the important _(in other words, rich)_ person that he is.  

Michael planted a kiss on the top of his boyfriend's head, handing him the paper cup of tea as he eased down into his own chair.  Luke smiled up at him weakly.

"So, what's gonna happen?" Michael asked, setting his cup down on the windowsill next to him.  Luke was going to be discharged from the hospital the following afternoon.  The blonde brought the cup to his lips, sipping the steaming tea before answering.

"Well," Luke sighed, warming his hands with the heat of his drink, "I fucked up my organs pretty bad, from, like, overexertion and overheating, so there's that cool shit to deal with.  They also said that my depression and anxiety are likely to get worse and that hallucinations are common in the long term.  My mom said that my dad was looking into an inpatient rehab thing, which I might just fucking kill myself instead of being sent there, but yeah, that's my fucking future."

"Shit." Michael said, "Then let's focus on the short term...?"

"Short term is, I dunno what I'm gonna do without nurses that are all too happy to shut me up with sedatives, and, uh, I really enjoy these slippers my mom brought me today, I guess," Luke answered, wiggling his feet for emphasis.

The day after Luke had banished his mother from visiting, she had appeared with a stack of clean pajamas as a peace offering, which Luke couldn't resist after rotting in their one-size-fits-all paperthin suicide-proof sweats, along with threatening to take away his private hospital suite and send him to a state-owned mental institution, as a reminder of how easily she could overtake full guardianship of her son, considering how unstable he was, in case the pajamas didn't work.  As such, she continued to visit him every day.  She often opted to sit quietly and read books on her iPad, and had brought him lunch from Panera, so he stopped complaining.

"What's the first thing you wanna do when you get out tomorrow?" Michael asked.  That should be a relatively lighthearted question.

"Have a fucking cigarette," Luke replied, pulling his bathrobe around himself more tightly, "God, it's like they want me to wither away in here; I at least need the bare minimum of coping methods."

"I can come over tomorrow night with the goods, don't worry," the older boy laughed.

* * *

 

Heavy footsteps approached Luke's room as the teen leafed through an old magazine in bed _(he didn't dare ask for this week's copy of the publication, imagining the front cover story detailing his lifetime of depravity)_. He glanced at the clock, assuming the figure was likely a nurse coming to inform him that his mother was waiting at the desk to get him checked out of his room.  However, there were no courtesy knocks at his empty doorframe before the person entered, because it was Luke's father.

"Get up," he said.

Luke stared at him like a deer in headlights, fully expecting the room around him to burst into flames, imagining his father splitting in half to reveal Satan himself underneath the surface.

"Where's, where's Mom?" he asked nervously, sitting stock-still as if his father wouldn't see him unless he moved.  He hadn't even considered the possibility of his father coming to pick him up, seeing as he hadn't visited, called, or texted over the course of the past week.  He figured his dad would have considered him dead after Michael broke the news of his incident.

"Get up, now, or I'll drag you out," the older man said, ignoring Luke's question.  Knowing he wasn't bluffing, Luke sprung into action, launching himself off the bed to grab his duffel bag of things and shoving his feet quickly into his shoes.

Luke felt like he had literally just died as he trudged numbly behind his father, clutching the strap of his bag in both shaking hands.  He didn't notice that the pair had stopped at the front desk to fill out the final paperwork until-

"Pay attention," his father said suddenly, smacking his son lightly in the arm and shoving a pen into his hands.  Luke gasped, flinching back at the contact, receiving the worst look he'd ever seen on his father's face in return.  The blonde stared dumbly at the papers, fumbling with the pen until his father roughly guided him closer to the desk in front of him with a hand on his shoulder. " _Sign your name_ , Luke."

"Oh, yeah," he said, dazed.  He absentmindedly adjusted the beanie on top of his head.

"Shall I find him a wheelchair?" the officeworker asked, concerned, "We don't want anyone collapsing in the parking lot..."

His father declined, saying he was confident that they'd make it to the car just fine, and that was that, and they were on their way.

The ride home was tense and dead silent, save for the moment where Luke again ventured to ask if his mother was home, and was again silenced, this time with a furious glare.  The teen practically glued himself to the passenger car door, attempting to put as much space as possible between himself and the angry driver, chest heaving as he watched his father's fists on the wheel the whole way home.

* * *

 

The heavy click of the front door sounded like a gunshot as the two entered their home.  Luke felt his father's presence behind him in the den as he dropped his bag onto the sofa.  His stomach knotted painfully and he finally found himself unable to keep it together, immediately bursting into tears from the anxiety.  The blonde hid his face in his hands as he bawled his eyes out, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"What the hell are you crying for?" his father asked, giving Luke a shove that sent him stumbling back several steps.  Luke took several hiccuping breaths, trying to calm himself enough to muster up an answer before there was an issue of disrespect.

"I, I, I don't, I don't _know!_ " he cried, scrubbing furiously at his face with his palms.  The older man grabbed the front of Luke's t-shirt, twisting the fabric between his fingers.  Luke sobbed loudly, trying to pull back but having nowhere to go. "Please, don't-!"

"Listen, you stupid little bitch-- _hey!_  Look at me!" the man hissed, shaking his son roughly until he was deemed to be paying enough attention.  Luke struggled to quiet himself, hiccupping as he reluctantly stared into his father's eyes.  His father scoffed at the pathetic display. "So fucking annoying," he muttered, smacking Luke ungently on the cheek, causing the younger boy to flinch and jerk away.  "Go fix your fucking face and go rot in your fucking room.  I don't even want to look at you."

* * *

 

"Honey?  You alright in here?  I bought you some clothes today, I thought you might like to go through them and let me know which ones you want to keep," Luke's mother called, the bedroom door creaking open to allow a sliver of light into the pitch black room.  

"Thanks, but I think I'll look at them tomorrow," Luke said meekly, poking his head out of his cocoon of blankets, where he'd been settled miserably for the past few hours.  His mother's feet padded across the room and she plopped down gently onto the edge of the mattress. 

"What are you doing just laying here in the dark, baby?  It's not even dinnertime yet," she asked, pushing her son's hair back from his forehead, as if checking for a fever.  And then, "Oh good, you showered.  You didn't smell great yesterday."

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed, I think," Luke replied, choosing to ignore that unnecessary comment about his personal hygiene, "Anxious, 'cause, like, I didn't really have a plan after getting out of the hospital, and now I'm just thrown back into real life."

"Aw, we'll figure it out, sweetie," his mother cooed sympathetically, kissing the top of his head as she stood back up.  Luke started to wish that his mother could be so caring when he didn't just suffer from a near-death experience, until she ruined it with the following impossibly insensitive phrase, asking, "Do you want some of my Xanax?  It'll make you feel better."  She asked casually, like she was offering to bring him a bowl of soup, or a hot cup of tea.

"Uh, hi, have you met me?  I'm your son, Luke.  You know, the one that went to rehab for abusing prescription pills last year," the blonde said flatly, "And the one who clearly has some sort of problem with addiction to fucking _everything_."

"You are so dramatic," the older woman sighed, "I was just offering to help you."

"Leave me alone now, please," Luke grumbled, rolling over to face the opposite wall, intent on ignoring the woman until she left.

"My God, you were so agreeable when you were all doped up in the hospital, I almost forgot what a little brat you are."

* * *

 

 **mikey:** im coming over

 **luke:** dont know if thats a good idea

 **mikey** : didnt ask.

* * *

 

"No one's talking to Ashton," Michael said, laying with his head hanging over the foot of the bed, his hair hanging towards the floor.  Luke had retrieved his boyfriend from the front entrance, miraculously avoiding both of his parents as he slipped through the hallways, still burritoed in his blanket. "Calum won't, Bryana won't, not even that one chick who started the totally-untrue rumor about us fucking.  Pretty much no one in our circle will give him the time of day."

"Why not?" Luke asked with interest, sitting up in bed.  His stomach churned at the thought of checking any type of social media or tabloid.  He'd been putting off learning the opinions of others, in order to avoid having a fucking heart attack.

"Because he almost fucking _killed_ you!" Michael cried, "Anyone who knows _you_ , knows it was a douchebag move for him to even _offer_ you coke.  Everyone knew you were trying to quit, so he's the asshole who ruined that for you."

"What about the people who don't know me?  What do they think?" the younger boy asked.  Michael hesitated. "Michael?"

"Well..." the black haired boy said, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows, "That's the thing.  They _don't_ know you.  Or the situation.  And, in most cases, they don't know Ashton, and how he's Supreme Dick Lord Number One."

"So, then," Luke started, licking his lips, "Everyone else hates me?  Is that what you're saying?"

"No one _hates_ you, Luke," Michael argued.

"Hand me my phone, I need to check Twitter," Luke demanded, scooting towards the edge of the bed where his phone sat somewhere in the tangled sheets.  Michael sat up.

"No," he said, "You shouldn't, it'll upset you."

"Because everyone _hates_ me!" the blonde snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

" _No_ ," Michael insisted vehemently, "They just-- they don't know what the fuck they're talking about!  They don't _hate_ you, they're just... _judging_ , harshly."

"Well, that makes me feel a lot better," Luke said sarcastically.  He groaned, falling back onto his pillows, "God, I never want to see Ashton's stupid fucking face again."

"Then don't?" Michael suggested.

"I have to go back to work _sometime_ , Michael."

"Not really..."

"Yes, I do."

"Nuh-uh.  Tell them it's him or you.  They'll pick you.  Or just fucking quit, focus on putting yourself back together."

"Shut up." Luke said, pulling a blanket over his head, "Don't make me feel like I'll actually have a choice when you know that I don't."

"Maybe this time, you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, sorry it took so long to update. i just wasnt feeling up to it (When That Depression Hits am i right!!!!!)  
> anyway thank you for sticking around and thanks to the people who commented on the last chapter, sorry for those i didnt get around to replying to but i promise i read and appreciated all feedback!! hoping updates will be more regular from now on!


	27. Break in the bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am heaven sent,  
> don't  
> you   
> dare  
> forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: emotional abuse, physical intimidation, use of f-slur, drug mention. 
> 
> its pretty much the entire chapter, so i'll post a short summary in the end of chapter notes in case anyone wants to skip it/get a better warning before deciding to read.

Luke plopped down at the dinner table, seating himself across from his mother, and diagonally from his father, who sat at the head of the table.  He yawned, stretching his arms over his head as he leaned back in the chair.  The chef's assistant came by to drop off a bowl of Lucky Charms in front of the teen, rolling her eyes at Luke's stupid request to have a bowl of cereal made for him, which backed up the process of preparing the actual meal for his parents.

"Don't you think you should eat some real food, for once?" Luke's mother suggested, "You've been eating nothing but junk for the past week.  All that sugar can't be good for you."

Luke shrugged, slouching over the table as he went to work, carefully separating and sorting the cereal pieces from the marshmallows with his spoon.

"And stop moping around in your fucking pajamas!" his father added.

"No point; my counselor is the only person that sees me anyway," Luke said, apathetic, not bothering to look up from his Lucky Charms.  His father raised his eyebrows, evidently expecting the usual  _'yes, sir,'_ response.

"Well, what does Michael think when he sees you?" the woman asked, "He's been around lately, and so has that other boy."

"I mean, Michael and Calum are my friends, so, like, they're happy to see me _alive_ ," Luke replied, in between slurping at his leftover milk.

The older man scoffed at him, like it was a ridiculous notion that anyone would be at all happy to see Luke.  He then made some childish fucking remark containing a certain slur beginning with the letter 'F' under his breath, daring his son to react.

"In any case," his father said, when Luke was careful not to acknowledge the taunt.  Instead, Luke pulled his phone from the front pocket of his hoodie, tapping at the screen for a moment in order to send a text to Michael.  Michael and Luke had agreed upon a system where the older boy would text his boyfriend periodically, and then, if Luke didn't reply within ten minutes, Michael would speed to the Hemmings household immediately to make sure Luke was still alive and well.  So far, Luke had been too afraid to interrupt Michael's day to accidentally not reply.  His father glared at Luke, waiting for his son to put his phone down before continuing. "Texting during a meal with your parents is a little rude, isn't it?"

"Well, actually, I'm done eating," Luke shrugged, clinking his spoon against the empty ceramic bowl.  The assistant who had brought it to him was back in the room, wordlessly placing his parents plates in front of them.  She grit her teeth and retrieved the bowl to halt the annoying clatter of the utensil. "But, you were saying pajama-time is over, and mumbled to yourself about having a dumb fucking faggot son, who, by the way, is not fucking _deaf_ , and now what...?"

"Luke, please be respectful," the boy's mother said tiredly, rolling a cherry tomato across her plate with a fork.  

"We'll discuss your apparent inability to not be a jackass later," the older man said dangerously, sending a shiver down Luke's faux-brave spine, "My point was that you have work on Monday, and need to stop living in your fucking fantasy vacation land."

"I don't work on Monday," Luke said, avoiding eye contact with both of his parents.

"Fucking idiot-- _yes_ , you _do_ ," his father snapped, "Are you really trying to annoy me right now?"

"Ashton works Monday, right?" Luke asked instead.

"Yes," his father said impatiently.  

"Then I don't.  If he still has a job there, then I quit.  I won't work with him," the teen said, voice faltering a bit as he began to lose his nerve.  

His father stared at him like he'd grown three heads, like there was no way Luke could actually be stupid enough to say something like that.  He eyed his son, who quickly glanced away, before turning to his wife.

"Seriously, how many more brain cells did he lose since I last saw him?"

Luke's mother cleared her throat, patting her face with a white cloth napkin before setting it down on the table with a sigh.

"Luke Robert Hemmings, stop trying to raise your father's blood pressure right now," she warned, "You are absolutely _not_ funny."

"I mean it," Luke said.  He swallowed hard, tearing his eyes from their safe gaze on the wooden leg of the chair beside him and making terrifying eye contact with his father.  He took a moment to collect himself before continuing, "If Ashton still has a job on Monday, then I quit!," he hissed,  "I fucking _quit_!"

The chair his father had been sitting in crashed onto the hardwood floor as the man nearly jumped to his feet, towering over his son.  Luke shoved himself backwards in his seat, scraping away from the table, his heart leaping to his throat.  Time to die.  His mother stood as well, not wanting to jump in on either side yet unwilling to leave the two to their own devices.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Luke's father spat, taking a step closer so that he could lean down, gripping the wood of the chair behind Luke's head, "This is the only fucking job you have _left_ after your whole stupid fucking shitfest, you little _bitch_!"

Luke thought of backing down, of laughing this off nervously like he'd just made a bad joke, of saying of course he was going to work on Monday and of course he was going to fix all this shit.  He also really wanted to just bolt out the door and take the private jet directly and immediately to a remote island, but luckily the looming form of his father stood physically in the way of that desire.

"I said, I'll just fucking quit!" Luke blurted out boldly, "I've made this family so much fucking money, and I don't owe you a fucking _penny_ of it!"

He hauled himself to his feet, forcing his father to take a step back to avoid being bumped.  He felt like the man was going to simply reach out and snap his fucking neck any second, but now the adrenaline was pumping and Luke had to do something with it.

"I make more money in a month than you do in a fucking _year_ , and if you want to keep seeing even a _cent_ of it, you're gonna fucking listen to me!  Ashton is out of my life!  You're not going to book any fucking jobs for me ever again!  You're _not_ going to keep me trapped in this toxic fucking family anymore, and you're _not_ going to insult me, and you're _not_ going to fucking touch me!" Luke ranted.  

He didn't even know he could be this fucking angry, he'd never associated that emotion with his father.  It was always fear.  The older man twisted his face in anger and snatched at the boy's arms, like he was going to physically shake some sense into his son, which proved to be a bad idea.  Luke jerked away as if electrocuted, shoving his father back forcefully, his fight-or-flight response fully active.  

"I said, don't fucking touch me!" he shrieked. 

His heart thudded violently in his chest, rational thought taking over once more as his father recovered from the shove.  He was shaking all over and was nearly hyperventilating, trying and failing to breathe properly. This stress really wasn't great for his current state of health.  He watched his father take a few calming breaths himself, casting a glance towards his wife, who continued to watch the scene unfold anxiously.  He gave her a look that clearly said _'you better give me the blowjob of a lifetime for not slaughtering our son right here in the dining room'_ before returning his gaze to Luke.  He had trained his face to appear passive, but the teen could feel the red hot smoldering rage beneath.

"Get out of my house before I have you institutionalized, because you have clearly lost your goddamn mind," the man said quietly, livid.

"Fine," Luke said through grit teeth, pushing his chair roughly back into place.  Then, looking his father in the eye, "Let me know if I work on Monday."  

The teen breathed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he stomped his way to the exit.

"Michael Clifford _fucked_ me on that table while you two were in Miami!" he shouted, slamming the heavy front door behind him.

* * *

"Michael, I'm sorry to bother you, but can you pick me up before I do something really shitty?" Luke said, wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear.  He wasn't really craving coke at the moment, per se, but, well, yes, he actually really was.  That was the complete and total lie he'd been telling himself for the past thirty minutes.  It had taken all of his willpower to call the older boy instead of texting a local dealer.  He didn't even have his wallet, but he already knew his mouth was worth more than cash to the right guy.  A nice bottle of tequila sounded great too.

"Of course, babe, it's no bother at all," Michael said.  Luke could hear him immediately start shuffling around, preparing to get up and go. "Things go bad at home?  As usual?"

"Well, I don't actually know if I live there anymore," Luke said, pausing to hear his boyfriend gasp, "So there's that.  I'm at the park, near that tree where I sucked your dick.  I can just wait here for you.  Sorry again."

"Don't be, I'm on my way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter summary: luke stands up to his father about not working with ashton and being abused, they (mostly verbally) argue intensely, luke is kicked out of the house. he thinks of getting high but calls michael to pick him up instead. no one is physically harmed but i didnt want to trigger anyone with the intense arguing/language.
> 
>  
> 
> thank you for your patience during my impromptu hiatus. there are only a few chapters left so at least im stretching out your time with this fic am i right....


	28. Crown of gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are second hand smoke,  
> you are so fragile and thin,  
> standing trial for your sins,  
> holding onto yourself the best you can.
> 
> You are the smell before rain.  
> You are the blood in my veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings:  
> emotional abuse  
> and  
> smut

The familiar van pulled over on the side of the road across from where Luke stood, the engine of the vehicle chugging quietly as Michael slowed to a stop and rolled down the passenger window.  

Luke's phone buzzed in his pocket.  He pulled it out, staring questioningly at the screen.   _'Mother,'_ it said.  He silenced it and shoved the phone back inside his hoodie.

"Come on," Michael called, "Let's go home."

"I want a cigarette," Luke said, crossing his arms and making no move towards the van, "I know you have them on you."

"You shouldn't--" 

"I need a cigarette, _now!_ " Luke shouted, his voice cracking as he stomped his feet frustratedly at each word.

Michael sighed, rolling up the window and cutting the engine in defeat.

* * *

"They're not filled with _oxygen_ , Luke," Michael noted as he watched his boyfriend practically swallow his third successive cigarette.  The first two were spent on Luke retelling the events of the night, but this third one was just for therapeutic purposes. "I'm cutting you off, no more chainsmoking."

Luke breathed in deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it in a grey-white cloud that floated towards the night sky.  His phone vibrated loudly on the street curb where he sat, so he reached down to silence it.  Again.

"Fine, Mr. Pack-A-Day."

"Oh come on, give me some credit, it's more like...half a pack a day..." Michael argued jokingly.

"You are a perfect picture of good health," Luke said sarcastically.

The older boy huffed out a laugh, taking Luke's hand in his own and bringing it up to his lips, gently kissing the back of it.

"Would you, maybe, wanna live with me for a while?" he asked quietly, "Like a month, or forever?"

The blonde scoffed.

"You don't want to have me in your house, I'm fucking crazy," he said.

"You are not."

"I had a mental breakdown and made myself throw up the other day because my mom asked me if I wanted to go out and get lunch with her and I didn't like any of her suggestions.  She had all the fucking strings and shoelaces removed from my shit because she's been so concerned I'm gonna braid them into a noose and hang myself with them," Luke replied, deadpan.  He tugged on the hood of his sweatshirt to indicate that the drawstring was, indeed, missing. "You don't want to live with me."

"I'm sure there's more to it than that," Michael argued, "But anyway, I don't see it like that.  I want to be around you no matter what.  And I think it would be really good for you to get out of that house.  You can fill my apartment with your shit, it'll be great."

"It would be nice.  I don't know.  I'll think about it.  Thank you," Luke said.

Michael wrapped his arms around Luke's middle, resting his chin on the younger boy's broad shoulder, their thighs pressed together.  They sat in silence, ignoring the incessant buzzing of Luke's phone.

* * *

 "Stop fucking calling me!  I have over thirty fucking missed calls, leave me _alone_!" Luke screeched into the speaker of his iPhone.  He and Michael had nearly fallen asleep in bed, when the blonde's phone vibrated itself right off the nightstand and onto the floor, cracking the screen.  He had screamed through his teeth after seeing the damage, and locked himself in the bathroom to make a phone call, when, predictably, his phone began buzzing once more.  This time, he answered it.

"Where are you?" his mother asked.

"None of your fucking business," he said.

"Jesus, Luke, I just want to know if you're somewhere _safe!_ " she groaned, exasperated.

"If you _really_ cared, maybe you should have told your husband that he had no right to kick me out!  Or you could have _at least_ offered to get me a hotel room or drive me somewhere; I don't even have my fucking wallet and you just let me fuck off onto the streets!" Luke seethed.

"I didn't want to get in the middle of it!" she said.

"Well, _great_ , glad you didn't have to sacrifice your credit card privileges for a few days just for me," Luke said sarcastically.

"Baby, please, you know my little Lukey-poo is more important to me than shopping.  I feel terrible about the whole thing, I should have done something but it was very intense and overwhelming and I-- please, just tell me you're not shooting up under a bridge somewhere?  I'll send a car to bring you home," the woman said, sounding close to tears.  Luke rolled his eyes.

"I'm at Michael's place," he answered with a sigh, twirling a q-tip between his fingers absentmindedly, "I'm gonna stay here for a while.  Like a few weeks, maybe.  I'd like to come by for--"

"Please just come home tonight," she said.

"I'm not fucking _safe_ at home," he said, "I'm not safe from you _or_ your husband."

"You have a counseling appointment tomorrow.  You're not going to miss it, are you?"

"I don't want to, but--"

"We can go out for breakfast, anywhere you like.  I won't even say a word when you order those ridiculously huge waffles you always get!" the woman practically begged.  

"You're not going to convince me with--"

Luke was getting fucking tired.

"If you just apologize to your father--"

"What?" Luke interrupted.  He must need to clean his ears. " _What?_ "

"All he wants is a little respect, Luke!  And so do I!  It's not too much for a parent to ask of their child!" his mother scolded.

The blonde was reeling.  He sat down hard on the edge of the bathtub.  He wanted to throw his phone to the ground and stomp it into oblivion, but he didn't want to disturb Michael, who had probably fallen back asleep in the other room.

"He--he _hits_ me!  He's _abusive_ , can't you fucking _see_  that?  You think any of this is _normal_?" Luke breathed, because he didn't want to start angry-crying on the phone with his mother.

"Oh, God, come on, baby.  If you didn't act like a jackass all the time he wouldn't lay a finger on you.  You always do _something_ to piss him off purposely," she argued, like this was the simplest concept in the world and her son was just a dumb fucking monkey.

"He almost broke my arm a few days ago because he didn't _like_ that _I_ was in the den when _he_ wanted to be in the den.  He threw me down the stairs a few weeks ago because _you_ spent too much money on shoes!" Luke replied, feeling like he had been transported into the wrong dimension where nothing made any damn sense.

"His work is very stressful."

"I was pulling 80-hour work weeks because of him and _I_ never fucking hit anyone!" the teen shouted, finally unable to hold back from raising his voice.

"That's great for you, our special little addict," she said snottily.  He could practically hear her rolling her eyes through the phone.  

There was silence.  She sighed on the other end, then breathed like she was about to say something.  Luke didn't let her.

"You're such a horrible  _bitch_ ," he choked out.

"Luke Robert Hemmings!"

"Don't call me again," the younger boy said, immediately hanging up and tossing his shattered phone away from him.  It landed in the sink, clattering against the marble.  He didn't care.

He felt like he was filled with toxic black sludge, coating his insides to fill him with poisonous energy.  He was exhausted and sad and so fucking _angry_.  Luke balled his hands into fists, breathing heavily for a moment as he stood up.  He punched the doorframe, hard, barely feeling the pain in his knuckles.  He dented the wood a little.  It didn't matter.  He'd replace it, if Michael wanted.

Michael gasped, evidently somewhere very near the other side of the bathroom door.  Luke opened it, seeing Michael standing  there, a little shaken from the sudden banging sound and looking a bit sheepish.

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Michael lied, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt.

"I don't care," Luke said tiredly, flopping himself facedown onto the bed.  

The mattress dipped as Michael climbed in beside him, propped up against the pillows at the headboard.  He idly traced shapes on Luke's back with his fingers, intent on waiting until the younger boy was comfortably asleep before allowing himself to rest.

"I'm so fucked up," Luke muttered into the sheets, "Everything is so fucking fucked up.  I hate my fucking life."

Michael slid down the bed so he was laying beside the blonde, running his fingers through his honey colored hair.

"I don't know what to say," Michael admitted, staring at the ceiling, "It _is_ all fucked up right now.  But it'll get better.  And I hope _you_ feel better soon."

The younger boy said nothing.

"Your hand okay?"

Luke grumbled noncommittally, unmoving.  The black haired boy rolled over, facing him.

"Hey," he said, tugging on a strand of Luke's hair.  The younger boy made a questioning sound from the back of his throat. "I love you."

"I love you too," Luke said, finally turning his head to look at his boyfriend.  

Michael opened his arms invitingly, and Luke scooted into them.  The older boy rested his chin on the top of Luke's head.  They didn't say anything else for a while, the sound of their breathing filling the silence.

"Is that your dick?" Michael asked with a laugh, feeling something poking his thigh.

"Yeah," Luke sighed, "I'm horny, I wanna fuck.  I'm sorry."

"Wh-- like, right _now_?" the black haired boy asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, I just-- I dunno, you saying you love me turned me on.  It gave me, like, a heart boner."

"Oh," Michael grunted, propping himself up on his elbows. "Well," he said, winding his hand back to spank Luke's ass through his boxers, "take these motherfuckers off and let's do this shit!"

* * *

 

"Oh _fuck_ ," Luke gasped, bouncing back down on Michael's cock as he rode him, "Say it again."

"I love you," Michael panted, bucking up to fuck his boyfriend deeper as he dug his fingers into Luke's thighs and ass.  

Luke moaned, rolling his hips as he gripped the headboard for support.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he breathed, biting his lower lip as he quickened the pace of his movements, "Ugh, I'm close, _touch me."_

Michael made no move to obey, bringing his hands up to Luke's hips instead.

"I'd rather see you come from just having me inside you," he said, "Make a mess all over the both of us and then clean it up with your tongue."

"I didn't ask what you wanted," Luke said between heavy breaths, yanking Michael's hand off his hip and guiding it to his cock.  The older boy took the instruction, wrapping his hand around Luke's swollen length.

"Jeez, am I that rude to _you_ when I'm on top?" Michael asked sarcastically, stroking Luke's cock in rhythm with his thrusts.  He sped up as well, getting close himself.

"Pretty much," Luke said, "Say it again."

"I love you," Michael gasped, shaking as he came inside Luke, " _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_."

"Mmmm, I love you," Luke groaned, one hand groping around the bedsheets to clutch Michael's free hand while the other clawed at the bedframe, his cum spilling over Michael's skin as he climaxed.  

Luke slowly caught his breath, sinking down onto Michael's chest, letting his boyfriend's softening cock slip out of him.  

"Gotta get up," he whispered, "Gonna get sticky.  We should take a bath."

"Mmhmm," Michael agreed, "In a minute."

Their panting eventually slowed down into peaceful breaths.  

"I told my dad that you fucked me on the dining table," Luke said, poking Michael's nose with his own.

"Ew, _okay_ , it's bathtime," Michael said, dislodging Luke as he forced himself to a seated position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this chapter even late??? damn who am i...


	29. Little black heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went to heaven,   
> but couldn't get in  
> for what I have done   
> I said, "Please take me,"   
> He said, "You're crazy,   
> you had too much fun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings:  
> -uhhh references to distressing situations in general  
> -conversations with The Parents (you know how those go by now)  
> -substance abuse

"I won," Luke breathed, staring down at his phone.

"Huh?" Michael asked, still in the throes of sleep, smacking his lips after a yawn.

"Look!" Luke said, shoving his shattered iPhone in front of the older boy's face.  There was a single line of text on the screen.

> **Dad:** You have work on Monday.  You will not be late.

"That's great, babe," Michael smiled, sleepy eyes crinkling.  He tugged on the front of his boyfriend's t-shirt, pulling Luke closer to him, "Now gimme a kiss."

"Your morning breath is adorable," Luke said through grit teeth, horrified, giving Michael the quickest peck on the lips that he possibly could.

"Your fault for waking me up at 6:34 AM," the black haired boy said, falling back onto the pillows.

Luke rolled his eyes at the other boy, who immediately passed out as his head hit the pillowcase.

> **Luke:** okay, thanks for letting me know.
> 
> **Dad:** You will also be appearing in TV interviews throughout the next three weeks.  I'll email you the schedule.

The blonde wrinkled his nose, irritated.

> **Luke:** oh. i asked to schedule myself from now on though,
> 
> **Dad** : It was the network's compromise.  They weren't willing to let Irwin go without you grabbing them viewers elsewhere.  You'll be fine, it doesn't add many hours to your work week.
> 
> **Luke:** fine. thanks
> 
> **Dad** : Don't forget to go to the house for your counseling appointments, I'm sick of you screwing up.

Luke groaned, annoyed.  He opted not to reply, shoving his phone under his pillow and laying back, basking in the sweet embrace of Michael's hot breath and gentle snores.

 

* * *

 

A pair of expensive high heeled shoes clicked their way through the dining room and into the kitchen where Luke sat alone snacking on grapes, waiting for his appointment at noon.  His parents had decided to keep the family mansion as the meeting place for their son's therapy sessions so they could confirm that he was actually attending them. As such, Luke was forced to make weekly visits to the house and used the opportunity to snag more and more of his belongings from his room to bring to Michael's apartment, all while avoiding actual contact with his parents as much as possible.  Obviously, it didn't always work.

"Hi baby," his mother said, kissing the top of her son's honey-colored hair while sneaking a piece of fruit from his plate.

"Hello," Luke replied blandly, mouth full.

"My, it's like every time I see you, you've gone up a pants size," she remarked, tugging on a belt loop to demonstrate its lack of give.  Luke slapped her hand away, swallowing the food in his mouth.

"Well, Michael doesn't keep a padlock on the refrigerator," he snapped.

"Please, it's not like that was a constant thing," the woman scoffed, "Just when it was needed, like it would be now."

"Why do you talk to me like that?" Luke asked, popping another red grape into his mouth, "You beg me to spend time with you, but whenever I'm around you just try to make me feel bad about myself.  Why is that?  Is it because you find it easier to manipulate me when I think I'm worthless?"

"You are absolutely unbearable when you're like this," she groaned, covering her ears with her hands.  She left the way she came, calling out behind her, "I miss my sweet boy."

* * *

 

"Stop.  Come in here," a man's voice said as Luke passed by the open door.  

The teen froze, clutching the strap of the backpack he'd slung over his shoulder.    He stared into his father's office, reluctant to actually step into the room.  His father hadn't laid a hand on him since he'd kicked Luke out, but the blonde could still feel the anger and tension every time the older man even looked at him, filling him with anxiety for the moment his father would snap.  He'd found his courage once, but didn't know if it'd show its face the next time he needed it.

"Move.  Your.  Feet," his father said irritably, looking up at his son from his laptop screen.  Luke complied, swallowing.

"Yeah?" he asked as casually as he could, approaching the desk.

"Your mother wanted me to ask you if you're behaving.  It was rude of you to block her number," his father said, flipping through the stack of papers next to his computer.

"Oh, um, yeah," Luke stuttered, having no intention of unblocking the woman, "I'm doing my best.  Going to work, avoiding going out, sleeping when I should, all that."

"Mm," the man hummed dismissively, "So, no drugs or alcohol?"

"Like I said, I'm doing my best," the blonde said reluctantly.  

His father rolled his eyes at that, clearly having no fucking clue what it's like to struggle with _anyfuckingthing_.

"Anyway," his father sighed, typing away at his keyboard as he spoke, "I saw that hour-long interview special last week.  You did fairly well, considering the topic.  You'll be back on top in no time."

"Uh, thanks, I guess...?" Luke replied, rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels uncomfortably.   _Please fucking dismiss me already, going to therapy is exhausting enough_.

"You were convincing," he went on.

Luke grimaced.

"I mean, it was real," he said, knowing exactly what the older man was referring to.  He was talking about the place in the interview where the fucking bitch of a 'journalist' decided to play the cell phone video footage from inside the club without warning.

_"Since that night, this video, which I'm sure you've seen before, went viral.  It's been tweeted, snapped, and tumblr'd," she began.  Luke internally groaned at her fundamental lack of social media knowledge.  He also knew that he'd been quiet and truthfully a bit boring throughout the interview and now they wanted to spice things up by talking about Luke's public humiliation to make him uncomfortable, "We've all been on the edge of our seats waiting for your take on it."_

_Without further ado, a laptop was placed on the glass coffee table in front of the star where the video was on autoplay.  Luke hadn't seen it, had actually avoided it.  He stared in stunned horror as one of the partygoers weaved their way to the front of the crowd surrounding a panicked Michael and Luke, and a pair of paramedics.  The bar's music had been cut off and the patrons were more or less shocked into silence, allowing the conversation within the circle to be heard clearly._

_Luke watched with wide eyes as the video showed him laying near a puddle of his own vomit in complete distress as the paramedics struggled to calm him down enough to get him on a gurney while Michael babbled his way through a shaky and tearful explanation.  Eventually, the image was distorted when police officers and club bouncers worked to escort the remaining crowd out of the building, but the audio of Luke sobbing that his chest hurt and he couldn't breathe and everything was moving too fast was crystal clear just as the video cut out completely._

_The teen forcibly shoved the laptop away from him, pushing himself to his feet.  He stood on trembling legs as he numbly walked off-camera, ignoring everyone and everyfuckingthing until he found himself in a clean, white, calm bathroom.  His stomach turned and his mouth watered and he expelled its contents into the toilet before splashing his face with cold water at the sink, pretending his tears were just tap water.  He stared in the mirror, at his fucked up hair and dark-rimmed eyes and ghost-pale skin.  He looked how he felt: like shit.  Was it finally time to give the fuck up?  The whole world was a fucking terrible mess, feeding off his misery like goddamn parasites._

In the end, Luke went back out to finish the interview and gave the best damn acting performance of his life.  He was Luke-fucking-Hemmings, and he was done giving up and he was done being humiliated and he was done letting people pick at him and take pieces of his fucking soul until there was nothing left.  He played to the audience's sympathies, intent on conning the torture-porn-loving fucks back into his paychecks while he silently decided he wasn't ashamed of himself at all, he was proud of himself for surviving in this fucked up situation for this long without completely losing himself in the process.

"Whatever.  It was a better-than-average interview.  People loved it, ate it up.  If you don't want to take the damn compliment--"

"Can I leave?" Luke huffed, interrupting him, "Michael's waiting in the car to pick me up."

His father's disgusted glare was like daggers shooting across the desk.  If looks could kill...

"Please do, you ungrateful shit."

Luke gave him his best tight-lipped snot-nosed smile before hauling his bag back over his shoulder and turning out the door.

* * *

 

"Hey, bubblebutt," Michael said suggestively, lowering his sunglasses to look at his boyfriend in the clear daylight.  He puckered his lips in preparation for them to be kissed.  

The blonde closed the car door, buckling his seatbelt wordlessly, all but ignoring the older boy.  

"Uh, honeybuns?" he tried.

Michael paused, confused.  His confusion turned to concern and he lifted his sunglasses up to sit on top of his head, out of the way.

"Everything okay?" the black haired boy asked, "You obviously don't need to kiss me if you don't want to but, uh, you usually do.  Did something happen?"

Turning his head, Luke looked at him like he just realized he was there.  His lips parted as he raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Luke said, pausing enough for Michael to softly interject with a ' _s'okay_ ' before giving his boyfriend a chaste kiss on the lips.  He sat back, fiddling with the strap of his seatbelt, "I just feel weird today.  Like, drained."

"Oh?  Did you talk about heavy shit today or something?"

"I mean, yeah, we talked about-- ugh, it doesn't matter," the younger boy said, his heart starting to race just thinking about finally opening up to his counselor about his years of abuse after dancing around the subject for however long now, voice almost a whisper because the man himself was just in the other fucking room and if she ever tried to report any of this Luke vowed to deny the hell out of it and make sure she never worked again, "But yeah, so first it was my mom, you can imagine how she talks to me. And then my _dad_ wanted to talk to me.  And then he brought up that fucking dehumanizing interview that I did so well on, and I'm just... I dunno, running on empty for the day."

"Aw, I'm sorry, babe, I wish I could just, like, possess your body and deal with all this shit for you," Michael frowned, gently prying Luke's fingers off of the seatbelt to hold his hand.

"I'll be fine," Luke said, "I just need to distract myself and forget I feel shitty."

"That's the spirit," the older boy said encouragingly.  Then, "You wanna get a hotdog?"

Luke furrowed his brows, looking at Michael.

"...A _hotdog_...?" he asked hesitantly.

"I dunno, just sounds good right now, doesn't it?" Michael asked, turning the key to start the engine, "Been thinking about it all day."

After starting the car, Michael leaned back in his seat, waiting for a response.

"...That _does_ sound really good," Luke sighed.

"Then maybe later I can stuff _my_ hotdog up your--"

"Okay, be quiet now."

 

* * *

 

Luke jiggled the doorknob to the apartment's front door.  He frowned when it didn't open, his vision doubling as he tried to concentrate on the handle, finding that it just wouldn't turn due to being locked.  He patted at his pockets, attempting to find the key Michael had made for him, but found them empty aside from his wallet, dead phone, and cigarettes.  Damn.  His lighter was missing too.  He stomped his feet frustratedly, pouting.  He could just sit out here until Michael woke up in a few hours, but the blonde was confident he'd need to be near a garbage can within the next half hour or so in order to avoid making a painting of his mixed drinks and greasy bar food on the hallway floor.

Hesitantly, Luke rapped on the door with his knuckles.  No answer, obviously. Michael sleeps like the dead.  He ventured for a louder knock, increasing the volume until he felt like he was pounding the shit out of the wood.  It opened suddenly, sending Luke stumbling through the doorframe and into Michael.

The younger boy backed up immediately, staring down at his shoes and avoiding Michael's gaze in hopes that the older boy wouldn't notice his glassy eyes or flushed cheeks.

"Forget your keys, sweetcheeks?" Michael asked obliviously, "I ordered Chinese for dinner earlier so there would be a bunch of leftovers for you to heat up when you got home from work.  Didn't think it'd be this late, but it's on the top shelf of the fridge if you feel like having any tonight."

"Thanks, but I think I jus'wanna goto bed," Luke said, accidentally slurring a bit.  He slapped himself on the forehead for his mistake, squeezing his eyes shut.

" _Woah_ ," Michael said, wrinkling his nose, "Your breath smells really--" He gasped suddenly before accusing angrily, "You're drunk."

" _No_!" he cried much too loudly, catching a whiff of his own breath that was indeed, distinctly alcoholic.  Shit.

The wall behind Michael was swaying slightly, or maybe it was just Luke's imagination that the patterned wallpaper was changing size and shape.  He blinked at Michael, who was staring at him incredulously.

"Yes you are!  I can't believe you lied to me about working late to go get drunk!  Did you cheat on me too, like when you _used to_ lie to me about where you were?" 

"Nononono, I didn't do that!" Luke insisted, tugging on his own sandy blonde hair, "I didn't, I _didn't_!"

"Did you get high?" Michael asked.

Oh _god_ , don't ask _that_.  Michael was going to fucking _kill_ him.  Their eyes met briefly, and the older boy could instantly tell what the answer was by the way Luke ripped his blue-eyed gaze immediately back down to the safe space of his shoes.  The blonde hunched his shoulders, willing himself to be small.  He wrung his hands anxiously in front of him in a pathetically submissive display, standing like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"I, I-- 'm so _so_  ssorry Mikey," Luke said, voice wobbly.

"The whole _kicked-puppy_ thing doesn't really work when you're so much taller than me," the black haired boy grumbled.

"Please don't hateme, I'mssorry, I'm sorry, I'm sososo--" Luke sobbed, wiping his runny nose on his jacket sleeve, "I'm so fuckin' s- _sstupid_ , 'm sorry--"

"Jesus, Luke, this isn't the first time we've had this conversation!  Like, fuck, you know I understand what you're struggling with, but to fucking lie to me-- first of all, total betrayal of my trust, second of all, what if something happened to you but I thought you were at work, or with Calum, or whatever?  What if you overdosed again, and, and this time you didn't wake-- you _died_ \-- and- and it seems like you're just fucking fine with leaving me like that, but I'm, I _can't_ \--" Michael stumbled over the words, choked up with emotion.  Luke stared at him helplessly.  After collecting himself with a few deep breaths, Michael continued, "I'm so fucking worried about you, my hair's gonna go grey before I turn 25."

"That'd be a look," Luke sniffled.

"Your jokes aren't cute right now," Michael warned.

"I'm drunk," Luke whined.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Michael asked, "Are you gonna remember this tomorrow, or are you that drunk?"

"I'll remember, I promise, I fucked up, I lied to you, I'm sorry," Luke said, desperate, "I thought-- I thought I _needed_ it, and I knew you wouldn't let me, I knew I wasn't gonna get away with it, I'msorry I'm such a fuckup, I'm sorry I made you worry, I'm so _sorry_."

Michael watched him for a while, half-convinced that Luke had actually taken what he'd said into consideration.  He sighed, walking to the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of water.  He tossed it to Luke, who missed catching it, instead watching it bounce onto the floor where it rolled away for a few seconds before picking it up and twisting the cap off to take a drink.

"Thankyou," Luke whispered, drying his eyes with his clean shirt sleeve.

"I'm going to bed," Michael said flatly, running a hand through his hair as he continued walking past Luke and down the hall to his bedroom, Luke trailing cautiously behind.

"Please don't make me sleep by myself in the guest room, you know I have nightmares when I'm alone," Luke said, hovering in the doorway like a ghost.  

"Get in bed, then," Michael said, kicking his sweatpants off before crawling under the covers himself. 

Luke undressed down to his boxers silently, the mattress dipping under his weight as he laid down an arms' length away from the older boy.  He stared at Michael's profile as the black haired boy laid on his back, eyes closed.  Michael evidently felt Luke's gaze on him because after a few minutes, he cracked one eye open to see Luke still looking at him.

"I put the garbage bin back in the bathroom if you need it," Michael said tiredly.

"No," Luke said quietly, "I just-- I want you to know that I'm still trying really hard."

"I know, Luke, this is the first time in months that you've slipped up.  It's okay."

"And I'm not okay with dying and leaving you or whatever, so please don't give up on me," the younger boy said, eyes welling up with tears once more, "I'm not trying to hurt you, I just have a really really long way to go still, and I'm sorry."

"Luke, I love you.  And I'm gonna continue helping you through this as much as I can," Michael whispered back, "But just... don't fucking _lie_ to me, okay?  You need to trust me enough to tell me the truth so I can help you.  Can you do that?"

"Uh-huh," Luke agreed, scooting closer to the older boy, "I will.  I love you too."

"Please, let's not have to have this conversation again," Michael said, rolling over to bury his face in the crook of Luke's neck, "I should have had you clean up before getting into bed, you smell like you dipped yourself in a fucking gas tank."

"Would've considered it if you hadn't trapped me in the car with your nasty ass farts yesterday," Luke sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from my limited research on therapists and their mandatory reporting laws, it seems that in general, therapists are not required to report domestic violence if it takes place between two adults. however, in the case that a medical professional did report suspected domestic violence, the victim has to admit that abuse took place anyway or the investigation wont continue. this doesnt have much relevance other than those few lines but i just wanted to share that i wasnt just pulling that tidbit out of my ass lmao
> 
> also according to my loose story planning, the next chapter will be the final chapter. :(  
> thank you to all who have commented/bookmarked/read this fic!! love you!!


	30. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the memories that we make will never change  
> We'll stay drunk, we'll stay tan, let the love remain  
> And I swear that I'll always paint you  
> Golden days
> 
> Time can never break your heart  
> But it'll take the pain away  
> Right now our future's certain  
> I won't let it fade away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, the final chapter is here.
> 
> chapter warnings (its a doozy):  
> smut (between pagebreaks 4-6)  
> mentions of most unpleasant tagged topics throughout  
> emotional abuse/violence (between pagebreaks 10-11)

"Got you a present, babe," Michael purred, sliding up behind Luke to squeeze his ass as the younger boy leaned over the sink.

"Is it a pair of rubber gloves?" Luke asked, staring down at his poor delicate hands in the dirty dishwater.  

Luke Hemmings wasn't cut out for chores, but Michael lacked a team of handy-dandy cleaning ladies.  Cheap bastard.

"No," Michael said, wrapping his arms around Luke's waist and resting his chin on the blonde's broad shoulder, "It's something for... tonight," he finished suggestively, wagging his eyebrows.

"I already figured out you were my Secret Santa, like, weeks ago," Luke said, "Can you start putting the clean dishes away so I can reload the dishwasher?"

"For fuck's sake, Luke, I'm trying to tell you I bought nasty sex stuff for tonight after the party!" Michael groaned.

"Oh... I see," Luke said, grinning slowly in realization.

The black haired boy chuckled, kissing his boyfriend's neck as his hands trailed lower, from Luke's waist down to the fastening on his pants.  He unbuttoned Luke's jeans, grinding up against his ass from behind, smirking as the blonde's breath quickened and he gripped the edge of the kitchen sink.

"Michael..." Luke breathed, voice husky.

"Yeah?" 

"Put the dishes away before I start breaking them over your head," Luke said flatly, straightening himself out and continuing to scrub at the disgusting crusty ceramic bowl in the sink.

"I really thought I had you distracted there," Michael sighed.

 

* * *

 

Secret Santa gifts in hand, the pair arrived at Bryana's enormous place of residence for their holiday gift exchange before the larger group of guests arrived for the party taking place later that night.  Friends continued to shuffle in after their arrival, tossing their jackets in the direction of the poor doorman who looked like he was about to collapse under their weight.

The group had become pretty tight-knit over the past few years, and Ashton's absence was overly apparent, at least to Luke.  The blonde hoped his friends at least felt they'd made the right choice by sticking with him and effectively kicking the older boy and his waning career to the curb.  No one said anything about it as they entered, but Luke couldn't help but feel guilty that they'd sacrificed years of friendship over something Luke shouldn't have done in the first place.

Michael and Luke hovered near the circle of friendship created on the blonde girl's carpeted living room floor, ending up sitting across from eachother as Secret Santas were revealed and gifts were passed around.

"Luke's turn!  Open it!  Who's it from, again?" his co-star asked, seated beside the teen.

"It's from Michael," Luke said, ripping away the wrapping paper to reveal the giftbox.  

He opened the lid, looking down at the white snowflake-patterned tissue paper.  He carefully peeled it away.  The actor stared down at its contents silently.  Without pulling any of the gifts from the box, he could see the pastel pink g-spot vibrator and a pair of matching leather wrist-to-ankle restraints sitting atop a pile of white satin and lace.  Feeling the girl next to him leaning over, obviously to see why Luke was speechless, he closed the lid of the box and crossed his forearms over it.

"What is it?  Show us!" someone said.

"Michael," he said calmly, his hands sweating profusely, "This is the wrong present."

"I dunno what you're talking about," the older boy scoffed confidently, lunging across the circle to snatch the box out of Luke's hands before he could protest, losing his balance and dumping the contents over the floor in he process.  Michael blinked down at the familiar thigh high stockings and novelty bubblegum-flavored lube, "Well this is _completely_ unexpected."

"What did you _think_ was going to happen when you put _both_ of my presents in two identical unlabeled giftboxes!" Luke hissed through grit teeth as he felt everyone's eyes on them, an awkward silence falling over the group.  He nearly slapped himself in the face for admitting this shit really _was_ meant for him.

"I'm sorry, I just have to ask, because it _seems_ like you've dumped a box of unironic sex toys on my carpet on Christmas Eve: Luke, aren't you straight?" Bryana asked slowly.  

Calum snorted off to Luke's side.  Luke glared at him, but found the brunette staring innocently off into the distance.

" _'Am I straight?'_ " Luke parroted incredulously, "Of course I am!"

He glanced across the circle at Michael, who was shaking his head with a grimace in a _'sweetie...no...'_ fashion.  Luke sighed heavily.

"I mean, no, I don't know," he stuttered awkwardly, pulling his knees to his chest, "Michael and I have been seeing each other for the past few months, so..."

His eyes darted around at his friends, who were all wearing similar shocked expressions, except for Calum, who was simply trying to look surprised so no one would demand answers from him.

"Come on, guys, like you never noticed that I've been _'living in the guest room'_ yet none of my shit is actually _in_ the guest room," he snapped.

Bryana cleared her throat as Michael finished gathering the junk off the living room carpet and shoving it haphazardly back into the box.

"So that's cool, the TMI about your sex life aside.  Anyone have any questions, comments, or concerns before we go back to our now-boring gift exchange?" she asked.  Everyone quickly shook their heads.  Her expression turned dark, "We all understand the need for privacy, especially in this industry.  So if I find out anyone spreads this information past the people in this room... you won't be around for New Year's."

* * *

 

Luke stared at the bar from across the room, where a hired bartender was shaking up a cocktail in a silver tumbler.  An unexpected hand touched his shoulder and he flinched instinctively.

"Sorry," Michael said softly, dragging his hand down gently to Luke's waist, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Luke said.

"I'm really sorry about fucking up the present thing, I know keeping this private was important to you," Michael whispered past the guilty lump in his throat, "And that was pretty much the most embarrassing way to have to come out."

"I actually feel better, a little," Luke admitted, "Like, it's a few more people I can be myself around, and if everything turns out, a few more people I know I can trust.  And everyone's been cool about it so far.  Although I would have preferred just telling them than doing a show-and-tell with the things you'll be shoving up my ass," he shrugged, "But I could have come up with a lie, that it was a joke, or for a girlfriend or something, but I didn't."

"I'm glad, but still, I'm sorry it wasn't totally your choice," the older boy murmured, "So what's on your mind?  You've been really quiet."

"I want a drink, but..." Luke trailed off, embarrassed, "You don't think just one drink would hurt, do you?  You know I'm not an _alcoholic_."

"Well, why do you want one?"

"I need one for, like, stress," the blonde explained, "I'm fine but I can't help but be a little anxious."

"Is it a good idea to drink because you think you need to?  Or because you think it will fix your problems?" Michael asked.

"...No, I guess not when you put it like that," Luke replied dejectedly.

"It's your choice, but I just don't think you'll be proud of yourself for abusing alcohol as a coping method," Michael said.

"I wouldn't," Luke agreed, "Thank you."

"No need for thanks, I'm just saying out loud what I know you already know.  And I wasn't planning on drinking tonight either, anyway."

 

* * *

 

Luke grimaced as he shifted his weight from one knee to the other, being ordered by Michael to put on the white silky panties and lacey thigh-high stockings and kneel on the bedroom floor for an unspecified amount of time.  The hardwood was, well, _hard_ , and he had no idea what Michael was doing in the other room.  Realistically, the black haired boy was probably just having a cup of coffee and watching TV to be an asshole while Luke anticipated... _whatever_ was going to happen.

Michael finally entered, predictably sipping from a mug that he set down on the dresser, his other hand holding the gift box.

"You're going to suck me off first," Michael said casually, plopping the contents of the box onto the bed, "And then we'll play with your new toys, and then maybe you'll blow me again, or maybe I'll fuck you.  Haven't thought that far ahead.  Safeword is...?"

"Ryan Reynolds, like usual," Luke said monotonously, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Using that tone already?  Brave," Michael said, crossing the room to stand in front of his boyfriend.  Luke looked up at him with his big blue eyes, a small and almost apprehensive smile across his features. "You look amazing, like an angel," Michael nearly cooed, "Beautiful."

The blonde's heart fluttered at the compliment.  Michael knew that Luke had been feeling insecure lately as he struggled with the minor weight gain that came with sobriety and a proper diet, something that could be considered inconsequential to people fortunate enough to be _normal_.  Mealtimes were filled with tears and apologies of "I can't eat this, _Ican'tIcan'tIcan't_ , I'm sorry I'm so fucking annoying, I'm sorry--" and trying on clothes was wishing he'd listened to his mother and wondering why Michael didn't tell him how fucking _bad_ he looked and sex was anxiety and turning the lights off but Michael never hesitated to listen and understand and comfort, was the only one who didn't look at him like he was a fucking nutjob as he interrogated unfortunate waiters on the ingredients in each dish, and help him along his slow but sure road to self-acceptance.  He owed the older boy his fucking life and several thousand spa days.

"I would do anything for you," Luke said sincerely, feeling like he was constantly seeing Michael through an angelic Snapchat filter.

"Well if that's the case, I'd really like you to buy me a trampoline," Michael joked, fingers tilting Luke's chin so the younger boy would look up at him completely.

"I'll buy you the whole store," Luke said, meaning every word.

"Aw, don't get all sappy and romantic on me now, I'll end up just wanting to cuddle," Michael said, running his hand through the blonde's honey-colored hair.

"I want you to choke me with your cock and then cum all over my face," Luke said, maintaining intense eye contact.

"Yeah, that sounds good too."

 

* * *

 

The wrist-to-ankle cuffs created some vulnerability, to say the least.  Luke was curled up with his cheek to the mattress, one eye screwed shut to avoid the not-quite-dry cum from dripping into it from the bridge of his nose.  He was on his knees, shoulders down, ass up, his hands pulled back to his ankles and secured there by the pink faux-leather.  He breathed wetly, trying not to literally drool on the sheets after Michael had fucked a hands-free orgasm out of him using only the vibrator.  

The older boy eased the toy out of Luke, leaning down to lick a stripe over his sensitive hole, making Luke choke off a scream.  He pulled the panties back over to cover him from where they'd been pushed to one side.

"Clean this off," he offered, shoving the vibrator towards Luke's face, the blonde's heavy breaths hot on his hand, "It tastes like bubblegum."

Luke eyed him, a bit disgusted at the idea, then shook his head as best as he could.  The black haired boy swiped the stickiness away from his eyes with his thumb so Luke could properly look at him.

"Uh-uh," he said, blinking a few times, "Don't wanna."

Michael made a big show of sighing and drizzling more lube over the toy.  He slowly pulled the silk panties back to the side, running his hand down Luke's stocking-clad thigh and trailing it down his leg until he reached the younger boy's hand, who grasped onto his fingers with his own.

"I thought you'd say that," Michael said, gently coaxing the vibe back in for the second round.

 

* * *

 

"Christ, you are so fucking _loud_!" Michael hissed as Luke babbled beneath him, nearly incoherent.  The blonde was always a talker, but he had been spewing nonsensical words and noises nonstop for minutes now.

Luke's fingers clawed at the sheets, at the restraints, at Michael's skin when he got too close, desperate to be touched while the vibrator buzzed inside him relentlessly, desperate to really come, properly.  He was being wrung out, with no real release.

"Please, please-- I-- please touch me, _pleasepleaseplease_ , need to, I need to come, help me, _please_ ," Luke begged, finally gathering enough words for a complete thought.

"Babe, in case you haven't noticed, you've come a few times now," Michael scoffed, smoothing his hand over the small of Luke's back.  He turned the setting on the vibe up one notch, grinning as Luke bucked back with an uncontrolled moan, his red cock leaking onto the mattress.

"Please!   _Please_!  God, fuck, fucking _shit_ , please," he demanded.

"Fine, you fucking brat, but you're gonna shut up," Michael said.

After the panties became a nuisance, Michael had snipped them apart with a pair of scissors and left them in a damp ruined heap discarded near Luke's shoulder on the bed.  Michael picked them up, balling the wet fabric in one hand and leaning down to shove it into Luke's panting mouth, gagging him.  He turned the vibrator off momentarily, hearing Luke groan unhappily.

"Can you breathe?" he asked seriously, watching Luke's nostrils flare. 

Luke nodded vigorously, wiggling his ass.  

"Yes, yes!  Go!" Luke said, muffled by the panties in his mouth.  Michael rolled his eyes, unclicking the fastening on one of the wrist restraints.

"You're such a fucking slut.  I'm gonna undo this one in case you need to pull the gag out of your mouth," he explained.  

Luke made a noise of complaint, exhaling deeply through his nose as he glared back at Michael, rolling his hips towards the unmoving toy.  He snapped something about how he didn't care, just let him fucking _come_ already you evil fucking motherf--

Michael shoved the panties deeper into Luke's mouth to silence him, effectively ruining any sort of intelligible speech.  He spanked him for good measure, earning a squeal from the younger boy.

"Calm down or this ends now," he warned lowly near the other boy's ear.  Luke shivered, nodding slowly.  

Michael uncapped the bottle of lube once more, generously slathering it over his own hard cock and dripping it over Luke's asshole.  He removed the vibrator and replaced it with his length, pushing in carefully.  Luke groaned with the stretch, relaxing as much as possible to accomodate the different size.

"Good?" Michael asked.  

"Uh-huh," Luke said, one of the few sounds from behind the gag that Michael could still make sense out of.

"Good," Michael said, beginning to move his hips as he wrapped a hand around Luke's cock, hearing the younger boy whimper upon contact.  

He tugged the blonde's cock in rhythm with his thrusts, the only sounds in the room being skin on skin and moans and heavy breaths.  Michael could tell Luke was getting close from the way his whines became higher in pitch and the way the younger boy was eagerly pushing back against Michael's length.  He quickened his strokes until Luke released a rather pitiful final load onto the sheets beneath him, Michael himself following behind soon after.

Luke tried to even out his breathing as he recovered from the intensity of it, vision fuzzy and body trembling all over while Michael pulled out of him gently, cum dripping down his thighs and ruining the lace of his stockings.  He heard the click of the other restraint being released and felt hands rubbing life back into his wrists and ankles where the cuffs had left small marks.  Michael tossed them off the bed, along with pulling the long socks down Luke's thighs until those were tossed away as well, leaving the younger boy completely naked.  Michael helped Luke stretch out and turn onto his back, chuckling a little as he realized Luke hadn't yet bothered to pull the panties out of his mouth by himself.  He grimaced at the line of spit that came with them.  Luke was simply staring up at him, an expression of wonder upon his features.

"What is it?" Michael asked softly.  He was always so _soft_ to Luke.  He pushed Luke's damp blonde curls off his forehead, using the corner of a blanket to wipe the dried cum off his face.   _Romance_.

"I love you," Luke breathed, like he was seeing Michael for the first time, "Please kiss me." 

The black haired boy smiled, obliging in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss.

"I love you too," he replied.

" _No_ , I--" Luke started vehemently, "I love you.  I _love_ you."

"I know, I love you too," Michael repeated, cocking a confused eyebrow at his boyfriend.  Luke's face crumpled suddenly, his lower lip wobbling.  Michael's lips parted in surprise, "What's wrong?"

"I'm--" Luke whimpered, taking in a sobbing breath.  He raised a shaking hand, wiping away the tears collecting in his eyes.  Michael pulled him up to a more seated position, propping the younger boy against his chest.  He hushed him, rocking back and forth soothingly. "I'm _happy_.  I'm so _happy_.  I _love_ you."

"Oh, babe," Michael choked out, tears pricking his eyes to match, "I'm happy you feel good."

"I love you," Luke repeated, half laughing-half crying into Michael's neck, "I love you so much.  I'm gonna buy you a million trampolines."

"I don't need trampolines, I just need you," Michael said, arms enveloping Luke completely.  Luke wailed at that, apparently the nicest thing he'd ever heard. "I love you, Luke."

"Michael," Luke said, sniffling the snot back into his nose, "I think-- I think I'm going to be okay.  I think _we'll_ be okay."

"I believe it, babe," Michael replied, kissing Luke tenderly on his reddened cheeks and sweaty forehead, "I know it."

 

* * *

 

 **lukey the love of my life:** guess what day it is,

 **my angel mikey who spits in my mouth:** uh i hope its not our anniversary lmao...

 **lukey:** no your good

 

> ive been clean for 6 months today i know its not that much but im still :-) about it !

**mikey:** OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

 

> I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!!!!
> 
> MY BABY!!!!!!!! I WILL SUCK YOUR AMAZING DICK TEN TIMES TONIGHT!!!!!!!! EVEN TWENTY TIMES IF YOU WANT!!!!!!!!

**lukey:** awwe stop it you , making me blush

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure?" Michael asked, taken aback by Luke's statement.

"Yes, I want-- I wanna be done with the hiding and sneaking and shit when half the world can already tell there's _something_ going on," the blonde said, slurping lo mein noodles off his pair of disposable chopsticks, "I want to hold hands in public and go on dates instead of eating cheap Chinese food by candlelight in the dining room with a cheap bottle of--"

"Well, hey, I _like_ doing this, it's intimate, in a weird way," Michael interjected between bites of his chicken, taking a gulp from his wine glass to wash it down.

"Yeah, I know," Luke admitted, "Not saying I want to stop eating dinner at home or that just being _together_ isn't enough, I just think... I want a _real_ future, like everyone else gets to have, don't you?  We were talking about how nice it'd be to buy a house together, do you still want that?"

"Of course I do," the older boy said, reaching out to take Luke's hand across the table, "And I want to show you off too.  I just want to know that you want to come out for _you_ , not just because you think _I_ want to, or that it's some type of ultimatum."

"I want to.  It's been over a year of this now and I think we're really going to last and that makes it worth whatever shitty things might happen from here on out," Luke said.

* * *

 

Michael parked the car in front of the glamorous restaurant, turning to the boy in the passenger's seat.  He smoothed out the shoulders of Luke's suit jacket, adjusting the younger boy's black tie just right.

"I still don't like this, I wish I was coming with you," Michael murmured, fixing Luke's hair and giving him a quick kiss on the lips, "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing's gonna happen in a fancy-ass restaurant, my parents would be way too embarrassed to cause a scene in front of other wealthy people," Luke replied, ashing his dying cigarette and taking a final long drag before flicking it out the car window.  Michael normally didn't allow smoking in his beloved vehicle, but an exception was in order for Luke, who was about to walk into a restaurant and ambush his parents with the news that they were cut off from his bank accounts and other personal interests so that he'd be free to be a big gay bitch in public.

* * *

"So good to see you, baby, I still miss having you around the house," Luke's mother said, tugging on his jacket collar to bring him down to her height so she could give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, "We need to get together for some Sunday brunch and mimosas soon, just you and me."

"Sure thing, Mom," Luke said, "We can have a movie date, or something."

"Luke," his father greeted, standing up from his seat at their reserved table to shake Luke's hand.  Luke braced himself for the older man clapping him on the shoulder in a fatherly manner, knowing that flinching would start the night off with a sour mood, even though the actor wanted nothing more than to shriek at the man to never fucking touch him ever again no matter how innocent the intentions.  He sat back down, dropping the white cloth napkin back onto his lap.  "You look healthy."   _For once,_ he didn't say.

"Thanks," Luke replied.  Then, kicking the back of one foot with the other, almost shy and slightly desperate for some type of approval, "I'm about a year clean, now."

"Excellent.  Your career reflects your dedication to bettering yourself," his father said.  Luke blinked at him, brows raised, "I'm proud of you."

Luke felt like he had astral projected straight out of his body; he didn't know his father even _knew_ that combination of words.  He sat down heavily in the cushioned chair, staring at the man dumbly.  

"That's fantastic, darling," he barely heard his mother say, glancing at her to flash a half-smile before looking back to his father, suddenly and stupidly interested in this dinner that could possibly be one of the only positive interactions he'd have with his parents in his lifetime.

"Now," his father said, taking a sip of icewater from one of the condensation-covered glasses on the table, "What you _should_ work on, though, is getting your own place, away from that Michael Clifford nonsense.  It's about time to put that phase to rest, don't you think?"

And there it is.  Watching his soul zip immediately back into his skin, Luke returned to his physical form, feeling his heart drop several stories.  It took twenty fucking years for his father to feel anything but utter disgust for his son, and Luke was going to stomp all over it.

"Yeah," he muttered dejectedly, reaching for the rolls in the basket at the center of the table and taking a half-hearted bite.

 

* * *

 

"Thank you, sweetheart, keep the change," Luke's father said genially, grinning up at the young blonde waitress as she picked up the small leather folder that contained the family's bill.

Luke's mother stared at her husband impassively, fingers tented in front of her.

"What?" the man asked, confused.

"You were certainly paying a lot of attention to her," she said.  Luke's father sighed, annoyed at where this conversation was going. "What color were her eyes?"

"That's completely ridiculous, I wasn't looking at her _eyes_ \--" he cut himself off, realizing he'd nearly made a grave error, "This is unfair.  No one would have paid attention to something like that."

"Luke, what color were her eyes?"

Luke glanced between his bickering parents, putting down his spoon as he finished his creme brulee.  

"...Green..." he answered hesitantly.  

She'd had a nice smile, and her jade eyes lit up with it.  Luke didn't want to add fuel to the fire, but it would've been easy enough to avoid if his father hadn't spent all that time staring at the girl's breasts in front of his wife and son.

"You are both insane," the older man scoffed, pushing out his chair and flipping his suit jacket back over his shoulders.  

He made to leave, with Luke's mother following closely behind, rolling her eyes.  Luke got up as well, trailing anxiously behind them as they left the restaurant.   _Fuck._  He hadn't had a chance to--

"I have to tell you something," he blurted out as they paused outside of the black SUV, just as his mother turned to give him a hug and a kiss goodbye.

"What is it?  Can't be any worse than anything else you've said to us," his father asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag.

"I'm-- uh, I want--"

"Don't mumble, sweetie," his mother said.  

"Michael and I have been looking at houses together," he said quickly, spitting the words out before he could stop himself again, "And we're going to come out publicly with our relationship this week."

The cigarette fell out of his father's mouth, hitting the concrete of the parking lot soundlessly.  Luke avoided eye contact.

"Honey, you're joking," his mother suggested, squeezing his arm lightly.

"I'm not.  You can't change my mind, I'm just telling you before it happens to be polite."

She looked over at her silent husband, then back to Luke.

"Well, baby, you know I love you no matter what bad choices you make, but," she said, giving him a final kiss on the cheek, "I'm staying out of this one."

Luke was unsurprised at her apathy towards his safety, watching after her as she went to the other side of the car and had the chauffeur let her into the backseat.

"When did you get so fucked in the head?  You're such a stupid little bitch, you're constantly ruining your own fucking life with no regard for anyone else," his father seethed, fists clenched.

"Don't talk to me like that," Luke snapped angrily.

" _I_ am the parent, and _you_ are the child, and I will say whatever the fuck I _want_ to you!" the older man hissed, yanking Luke forward by the front of his suit jacket, "You are a worthless piece of shit who never should have been born.  Your mother and I would've been better off if you'd had the courtesy to _die_ a year and a half ago.  You better hope to fucking God you never end up back in the hospital, because when I take over legal guardianship while your stupid ass is incoherent again, I will _personally_ make your life a living hell."

Oncoming bright lights made the pair squint, seeing Michael's van pull up to the scene.  Michael jumped out, hovering near his open car door, as if waiting for some kind of a signal from Luke to interrupt.  Instead, the blonde waved at him to get back in the car, but the older boy refused, crossing his arms.

Luke cleared his throat, prying the older man's hands off of him.

"I removed both of your names from all of my personal affairs," he said calmly, "Including my finances.  You are no longer affiliated with me, nor will you be allowed to make any decisions about my shit."

His father took a step towards him while Luke stood his ground.  The actor yelped in surprise and jerked back as his father's hand suddenly connected with his face, hard.  Michael rushed forward with a shout.

"Get the fuck _away_ from him!  Get the fuck out of here before I beat your fucking ass myself!" Michael yelled, shoving the man back forcefully, putting a barrier between the two.

Luke's father sneered at Michael, clicking open the door to the backseat of the SUV.

"Fucking dumbass," he said to Luke, who was reeling with his palm covering half his face, "You are _not_ my son."

"That was the whole fucking idea!" Luke shouted as the car door slammed shut and the vehicle sped out of the parking lot.

Luke watched the car fly down the road before beginning to stomp his way towards his own ride home.  

"Are you o--" Michael started, reaching for the younger boy's hand.  Luke jumped, whipping back around.

"Don't!" he shrieked.  He stared at Michael, who backed off, bewildered.  The younger boy seemed to calm down after a moment, reiterating more quietly, "Don't touch me please.  I need-- I just need a minute."

"Of course, I'm sorry," Michael replied, watching Luke let himself into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel himself, "Just let me know what you want me to do."

"Can you just, like, drive somewhere?  Anywhere.  Not home."

"Yeah," Michael said, turning the key.

 

* * *

 

The two boys rode in silence through the emptiest roads Michael could think of, driving until the musician decided to pull into the gravel driveway of a caved-in barn in the middle of nowhere, hoping they wouldn't come across some insane toothless farmer with a pitchfork.

Luke slid out of the car wordlessly, opening the large double doors at the back of the van to sit on the edge and look up at the stars.  Michael joined him, perching carefully on the bumper.  

"Can I look at your face?" Michael asked finally, Luke still covering his stinging skin with one palm.  Luke didn't reply but slowly lowered his hand to his side.  He swallowed hard as Michael gently prodded at his sore face, grimacing as the older boy flared his phone flashlight in his eyes. "Your eye and cheek are pretty swollen, but I dunno if it'll bruise.  Looks like he got you with his ring again, though.  Fuck, I'm so sorry I didn't stop that.  I wish I could go back in time and fucking kill him!"

"It's fine," Luke said, turning away, his jaw tensing, "He doesn't matter to me now."

"Luke..." Michael started hesitantly, gently taking Luke's hand, "You know, it's _okay_ to feel sad about being let down by your parents like this.  You don't have to be fine right now."

"I _know_ that!" Luke said irritably, snatching his fingers out of Michael's grip.

"But you'll _be_ okay," Michael said, "It'll take time, but you'll make it."

"Are you okay?  Without parents?" Luke asked critically.  Then, frowning, "I'm sorry, that was a nasty tone.  I've just-- had parents my entire life."

"'S'okay," Michael assured him, "Do I think it's unfuckingfair that some people get two great parents and I don't even get one?  Fuck yeah, it fucking sucks not being able to relate to a ton of people who get to have loving home lives like they're normal and I'm a freak.  But with the parents I _was_ given, do I really want them in my life if they're just gonna treat me like shit?  No, in the end they're just fucking _people_ that happened to fuck each other and make me.  You _choose_ your real family, Luke.  I'm your family, you're my family.  Calum's our family, so's Bryana, and the rest of our friends.  Don't get trapped in the comfortable familiarity of misery."

"That's deep," Luke said with a short laugh, letting a teardrop roll down to the tip of his nose as he hung his head, "I get what you mean though, so thank you.  I guess I just don't know how to process this right now, so maybe I'm pushing it off to the side so I don't have a complete batshit freakout."

"Whatever you need to do, just remember I'm here," Michael said.

"I know, you always are," Luke replied.  He swiped his jacket sleeve over his running nostrils, looking up at his boyfriend. "We should go home, I have to plan my 140-character Twitter announcement that I'm hungry for dick."

 

* * *

 

Socked feet slid down the marble hallway as Michael flew to greet Luke at the front door of their moderately-sized mansion.  It was a compromise between Luke's desire for a larger-than-life castle and Michael's request for a slightly bigger apartment.  The setup of trampolines and bungee cords in the back yard were more evidence of compromise, from when Luke demanded a private chef and cleaning crew and Michael didn't want to budge.

"God, you have to stop leaving me alone like this, the kitchen staff is always annoyed at me for asking them to make me pepperoni pizza for dinner every night that you're gone," Michael said, flinging his arms around his boyfriend of almost three years.

Luke had been out of town for the past two weeks on an exhausting promotional tour for his new film, just after Michael had released his third album but was between tours himself.  Calum had been babysitting the blue haired boy most of the time, but, as usual, any time the brunette spent with one of the inseparable lovers was filled with them whining about wanting the other to finally come home.

"Nice to see you too, Mikey," Luke said, muffled slightly by Michael's clinging form.  He tried to sound annoyed, but the blonde's nails were digging tightly into the older boy's back to keep him from pulling away.

"You smell good.  I wanna bend you over the dinner table and eat your fucking ass right now, let's go," Michael said excitedly, shuffling his feet in the direction of the dining room.  

"I think there might be another reason the kitchen staff hates you," Luke sighed, scooting along with him.

 

* * *

 

"Do you think we could get Kesha to play at our wedding?" Michael asked, pulling up slightly from where his face was buried in the pillows as he laid face down on their shared king-sized bed, "That'd be fucking cool, right?"

Luke stiffened, sitting up straighter from his position of straddling Michael, pausing his movements for a moment.

"Huh?" Luke asked, going back to massaging his boyfriend's shoulders with his knuckles and thumbs, "Our wedding?"

"Y--y'know, like-- when...we get married," Michael stammered.

"You think about that stuff?" Luke asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, yeah.  Do you?" Michael asked, twisting around onto his back to face Luke.

"I, ye-- do _you!?_ " Luke demanded, flustered.

"I just answered that!" Michael said, laughing as he watched the other boy's face flush.

"Oh, right.  I mean, uh, _yes_ ," Luke answered finally, backing up as if embarrassed to admit he had somewhat of a crush on his boyfriend.  He blew a strand of hair out of his face, ruffling Michael's blue locks afterwards to take the attention off of him.

It didn't work, Michael continuing to stare up at him, studying Luke's thick honey blonde hair, the lively blue of his eyes, the healthy pink in his cheeks and full lips.  The softness of his body where there were once only sharp, dangerous angles.

"If I asked, would you say yes?" Michael asked, too seriously to be a joke.

" _Michael--_ " Luke choked, freezing up.

"Please don't throw up on me," Michael said quickly, "I know you get those nervous pukes so-- but, listen... I'm serious.  What would you say if I asked right now?"

"I'd-- I'd say _yes_ , obviously, I fucking love you and hope we eventually fall into the same grave together," Luke whispered, heart swelling with emotion.

"Let me up," the older boy said, gently shooing the taller boy away from him.  Luke crawled off to the side, dumbfounded.  

Michael rifled through the top drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a tiny velvety box.

"S- _so_ , I didn't know if I was going to ask _tonight_ , but I've had this ring for-- since the day after you left-- and, so, I can't really remember this whole fucking thing I was gonna say, but--" Michael's voice wobbled as he spoke, cracking open the box.  Luke screamed through his teeth comically upon seeing the shiny silver band, flapping his hands as he urged Michael to finish speaking. "But-- what's important is, we've been through so much together, and you make me really fucking happy, and I feel like myself around you, and-- that's what I want, forever.  Do you wanna, like-- get married?"

Luke lunged at Michael, accidentally throwing too much weight into the motion and toppling both boys off the side of the bed and onto the carpeted floor.

He panted, sitting up and hauling Michael up with him.

"Michael, you have made me happier than I ever thought possible," Luke said, eyes welled up with tears, "Of course I'll marry you."

The younger boy kissed his fiancé deeply, not pulling back until he was nearly out of air to breathe.

" _Cool,_ " Michael said as they stared at each other from their crosslegged positions on the floor.

"I love you," Luke said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Michael's.

"I love you too," Michael replied.

He slid the silver ring onto Luke's finger, bringing Luke's hand up to his lips softly.

"I guess the next logical course of action is to get a cat," he suggested in a half whisper.

Luke sniffed the boogers back into his nose, rubbing at his teary eyes with the heel of his free hand.

"Don't ruin the moment," he laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's that! i hope the chapter wasnt too confusing with all the time/location switches but it didnt feel right to break it up.
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who has read/commented/kudos'd/bookmarked this fic and stuck with me for so long!! i hope you enjoyed it! this was a long and personal journey for me as well, im sad to see it end.
> 
> i have ideas for oneshots set in this same universe so please dont be too upset about it, i will make sure to revisit it :')


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